


The Midas Touch

by godslayer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, and some extreme pushing at the boundaries of canon, canon WHOMST, essentially an experiment in 'how much can this character take', hogwarts hijinks with an unstable oc, i hope you're masochists like i am, im probably gonna slap a full list of warnings SOMEWHERE but idk where yet, not brexit compliant lol, originally published circa 2012 LOL, this counts the sixth time i've rewritten this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2019-09-05 04:03:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16803277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godslayer/pseuds/godslayer
Summary: Richest girl at Hogwarts. Prettiest girl at Hogwarts. Meanest girl at Hogwarts.But apparently my great aunt getting murdered overshadows all of that.Unbelievable.





	1. prologue

“And what do you see, Miss Bianchi?” Professor Jenkins asks, gesturing to the crystal ball between us.

The pounding in my head hasn’t given up for the last two days and it’s not getting any better as I try and focus on the clouded crystal. I try to remember the words my mother has successfully chanted into my soul: let it come to you.

Thirteen years of being told that mediation is the answer to everything and I can’t focus for shit. Great.

I take a moment to control my breathing. In. Out. Nice smooth movements in an attempt to regain focus. The tea leaves will come later, or even better, I’ll be asked to read a palm. Anything over the crystal ball.

“Miss Bianchi?” He prompts. “I do have other students to examine, I’m afraid.”

“Sorry.” I open my eyes and fix them back on the crystal ball, but I can feel them slide out of focus completely and something inside of me cracks.

I’m watching the scene, but not through my own eyes. It’s like I’m hovering above my body, an omniscient presence overlooking the scene.

Despite thirteen years of ‘meditation’, eleven of knowing I come from the strongest Seer lines in Italy and three years of officially studying Divination at Hogwarts, I have not learnt how to channel this.

No.

I will not channel this now, so instead I recount one of my nightmares.

“A forest, a large dog - no, the Grim - a glistening dagger and so much blood - there’s purple robes-”

I wince at the memories. They feel so real. Almost tangible. Like they’re a blink away from actually unfolding. Somehow, my mind has always blurred the lines between what’s real and what’s a dream. My eyes open and with a shiver, I return to seeing the world through them.

Professor Jenkins nods solemnly and takes a minute to jot something down.

“Alright,” He says, placing his roll of parchment to the side, “Now for palm reading.”

At least this isn’t trying to summon something to me. He lays his hand across the table, palm facing the ceiling, and I take a moment to examine it.

“A patchy life line, you’ve been susceptible to many illnesses throughout your life,” I run my fingernail down the line, “Especially in your childhood. Head line is entirely straight, very practical and thorough in your work -- Nothing particularly special about your heart line. Gives and recieves in equal measure. A deep relationship line, have you been in one relationship your entire life?”

He chuckles, “I met my husband here at Hogwarts. He was in Hufflepuff and I was in Ravenclaw.”

“No distinguishable fate line, but nothing to worry about. A gentle health line - perhaps you are looking after a loved one or arranging their care or are you sick yourself?”

“My mother - she’s dying.”

“Aren’t we all, Professor,” I reply before diving back into the reading, “No Simian line, but it’s rare so nothing to worry about either. And one solid bracelet line indicates a moderately healthy future ahead.”

I close his hands into his palm and smile. “Is that all?”

His tense expression from the crystal-reading is gone, a warm smile remains. “That was splendid, Miss Bianchi.”

I take my leave and return to the common room. I’ll have to wait for Tessa to come out later, her last name is Holloway, so she’s a little way after me. Instead, Emma greets me as I’m heading down to the dungeons.

“Hey hon,” She says, the loose waves she’s pressed into her hair bouncing as she climbs towards me, “You all done with Divination?”

“Yup, only Defence, Astronomy and Muggle Studies left. Have you seen Ryan?”

“Last I heard, he was up in the library, revising.”

The library. Anyone who knows me will know that I outright refuse to go in there. I don’t like books at all. Ryan thinks it’s stupid. I think books are stupid.

“Alright, thanks. We on for a study sesh tonight?”

“Of course. I need all the help I can get in Defence, babes.”

She smiles and heads up the stairs with a wave. I don’t tell her there’s not much point in me being present for any kind of Defence revision, I’m awful at the spells and I’m even worse at the theory. I think I stopped paying attention in Defence about three years ago.

A few people greet me as I walk through the common room and a few move out of the way for me as I hurry by.

Since we all have our Defence practical tomorrow, we’re studying as a team in the dorms. I’d prefer a trip to the prefect’s bathroom instead, but we only ever use that to prepare for a party, which are few and far between this year.

“Oh my Godric,” Vari says as I cross the threshold, “I have the biggest stress pimple coming up! It’s like a fucking volcano.”

“That’s actually disgusting,” Paris, the only girl in the dorm who isn’t a member of my inner circle, says from her bed. Scrolls of parchment, charmed to stop rolling up, litter her emerald green bedspread.

Vari isn’t discouraged in the slightest. “It’s like they have no respect for my skin! Who decided to launch such serious exams at us such a young age! I want to hex them! I’m sixteen, not twenty-six.” She flaps her hands in an attempt to dry the paste she’s got dotted across her forehead and chin.

“Right, well, I’m going to have a nap. We’re doing Defence practical stuff after dinner,” I say, undoing my tie and hanging it over the foot of my bed. I peel up the covers down and slide in for a snooze.

For once, I don’t have nightmares. In fact, I don’t even dream. But when Tessa wakes me, something doesn’t feel right.

“Any luck with Sophia?” Tessa asks Emma as we walk up from the dungeons together.

“No, I think Moore is the biggest bitch out there,” Emma sighs. “She’s purposefully not letting me use the Intermediate Runes book just because she thinks I’ll get a higher score than her.”

“And all the other ones are being borrowed?” I ask.

“Yeah. Madam Pince says she’s never seen so many students ask after the same book.”

“Well, I’m sure we can get you a copy before your exam babe,” I smile.

“My exam is tomorrow afternoon,” Emma wails, “Right after Defence. I don’t see how we’re gonna get it from her.”

We settle down on the Slytherin table and start tucking into dinner, but it’s cut short by a large flock of owls storming into the hall. I’ve never liked owls and they’ve never liked me, but one drops a copy of the Evening Prophet on Tessa’s empty plate and zips out.

I don’t think much of it until Tessa smacks me on the arm. Hard.

“Oh my god,” She whispers, so quietly I’d think she was talking to herself. “Aurora, look!”

“What?”

She shoves the front page of the paper into my face.

AZKABAN BREAKOUT.

“Wait, what?” I exclaim, a few people turning to look at me.

Underneath the headline, in tiny print reads ‘ _written by Murphy O’Donnell_ ’.

“What’s my father doing writing about Azkaban?” I say quietly.

“That wasn’t my point, ‘Rora. Look.” She jabs her finger onto the headline for emphasis. “This is bad. Like, really bad.”

I shrug. “We’re at Hogwarts. Safest place in the world, right?”

Emma nods emphatically, but Tessa starts reading the article aloud.

“Following riots at the prison, the security was breached and three high-profile murderers broke free.” She stops to gasp. “Oh my god, Aurora that’s so bad. What if one of them is like, a Voldemort fan?”

“Tess, babe, I’m sure they’re not. You’ll be fine.”

Not only is Hogwarts perfectly safe, nobody would dream of hunting down one Muggleborn who lives in the middle of fucking nowhere.

“That’s alright for you to say. Nobody can get near you in Italy. Nobody would dare touch the sacred house of Bianchi.” It’s hard to ignore the bite in her words. She continues reading to herself. “Following the Dementor Ban of 1998, Azkaban has successfully seen the number of attempted breakouts decrease until last night wh-”

“Put that away will you?”

My head immediately perks up.

He’s here?

“You’re gonna put me off my dinner.”

Tessa scoffs but crumples up the newspaper and stuffs it in her bag.

“Hey babe,” Ryan says, making space for himself between Tessa and I. He gently cups my cheek and kisses me. “How was the exam?”

“Boring. A bunch of crystal gazing and palm reading, like that’s a challenge.” He smiles at me and serves himself dinner. “How was strategy planning?”

“Good. I think we’re gonna dethrone Gryffindor this year. Especially with Lily on our side.”

Lily Luna Potter, our resident Quidditch prodigy, is definitely our winning card this year. Tiny, agile and equipped with the best broom out there, Gryffindor doesn’t stand a chance against her Seeker skills.

I’m not the most interested in Quidditch - when Ryan starts talking about the Falcons I usually just zone out - but Hogwarts Quidditch is another matter. At least they can help us win the House Cup. And it helps that my boyfriend is Quidditch Captain.

“I should hope so babe. I can’t wait to see the look on Potter’s face when we do,” I say with a wicked grin. Watching Potter get beaten by his very own flesh and blood will be satisfying.

Ryan laughs and kisses me on the cheek again. Emma, who sits opposite us, makes a face, but says nothing. Just because she’s allergic to committed relationships doesn’t mean I am. In fact, Ryan and I have been together since my thirteenth birthday and I wouldn’t have it any other way. None of the boys in my year are actually handsome enough to even be considered competition and Ryan is just that great.

All around academic genius, star Quidditch player and without a doubt the hottest guy at Hogwarts, it’s hard to argue my point. His honey blond curls are always styled like he just got out of bed, his dark brown eyes make him seems so mysterious and alluring. The grin he gives me back is nothing short of devious. I don’t doubt that he has something hidden up his sleeve for Potter. When Ryan hits a bludger, it finds its mark.

“I’ve got to discuss things with Xander,” He says, nodding towards where Xander and Molly Weasley sit further up the table. “Will you be alright?”

“I’ll be fine hon,” I say, brushing my thumb across his knuckles. “The girls and I are doing Defence revision after dinner, exam’s first thing.”

“Well, I’ve got an idea for you,” He says, voice lowering as his lips get closer to my ear. “How about you do your exam and afterwards you can do some revising on me?”

I have to laugh, but he captures me for another kiss and deepens it until Xander wolf-whistles. All it takes is a soft wave of my wand and he’s wearing his pumpkin juice. My group laughs, oblivious to the fact I was responsible, and I slide my wand back up my shirt sleeve.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” Ryan whispers in my ear, so quietly I think he’s talking to himself.

“Where’s the fun in that?” I reply, batting my eyelashes at my boyfriend. He gives me a small smile, but it doesn’t feel right. He turns away and says nothing more on the matter and we eat in silence. He kisses me on the cheek and says a quick goodbye before heading to Xander’s spot further up.

“I swear he’s the weirdest guy out there,” Vari says as she places her cutlery down. “Anyway, are you guys ready for this cramming session?”

Emma and Tessa grin together. I can’t bring myself to smile alongside them, not with the strange throbbing feeling I’m getting in my forehead. Despite my best efforts, my headache is back.

They continue without me, chattering away about counter-jinxes and shield charms. We’re quick to head down to the dormitories together and Vari has sheet masks lined up for all of us, forcing us to relax for twenty minutes before we start attempting to fill our brains with Defence knowledge.

Unfortunately for me, the girls don’t stop talking and my headache only grows, pulsing above my right eye like a new bruise. I’m barely there for the entire revision session, my eyes start seeing purple stars and white flashes an hour into it and I decide to fold early.

Where sleep has helped before, it doesn’t now. Instead, half of my vision is goes in the blink of an eye during the exam, my own hand vanishes along with it. The pounding is insistent, unrelenting, as the gong signals for the exam to end, I can’t tell if it’s actually ending or if the headache has reached my ears. We meet up outside the Great Hall to walk back down to the dormitories together, but Emma pulls me aside.

“You alright?” She asks, brushing my dark waves behind my ear.

Every word is more effort than it should be as I speak. “What? I’m - I’m fine. Nothing wrong. Are you ready for Astronomy?”

“You sure? You look terrible hon.”

“I’ll be ok.” Judging by the look on her face, she doesn’t believe me. “Stress, you know?” I add.

She makes a soft ‘awww’ sound and loops her arm in mine to walk back to the dormitory. I insist on taking a nap, if only to get away from the shadows in my vision and when I collapse on my bed, I’m out like a light.

Vari is the one to wake me for dinner before Astronomy. Each bite is slow and calculated but my lungs drown in dread every time I inhale. Between the three girls, they keep me awake and Emma even helps me fix my sleep-smudged makeup. By the time the Astronomy practical comes around, I look considerably better than I feel. My vision is almost entirely back to normal and the pounding in my head has lessened slightly with two shots of Firewhisky.

Halfway through my planet chart, the nausea hits like a rogue bludger.

“Are you alright?” One of the examiners asks as I grab hold of the balcony edge for a little stability.

I nod my head slightly and return to my telescope. Darkness blankets the world around the tower and the quiet scratching of quills is the only thing to be heard. I’m halfway through readjusting my telescope to look at Mars when the headache comes back with a vengeance.

Purple dots cloud my vision as the spot above my eye screams with pain. I have to breathe. I have to get through this. Then I can get back. Sleep. Rest. I fumble for the balcony again and force out breaths. In, out. In, out. People are probably staring. Professor Sinistra, who’s hunched over in the doorway, looks worried. Half of her face is missing, but the half I can see is riddled with concern.

I have to get through this. I can get through this.

I open my mouth to tell the examiner I’m fine, but nausea bubbles up and greets me halfway.

Instead of speaking, I turn my head over the balcony and throw up.

* * *

“Jesus Christ, Aurora, you sure know how to make us all worried,” Tessa says the next morning. The girls have greeted me in the hospital wing and since my mysterious sickness has gone, I’m cleared for the Muggle Studies exam later on today. We walk to the Great Hall together and I can hear the whisperings about me from the passing students.

“She threw up in her Astronomy exam.”

“Right off the tower they say.”

“Apparently she was drunk. Can you believe that? In the middle of her OWL exam and she’s hammered. Bishop said he could smell alcohol the entire exam.”

We sit together and make a point to ignore the copies of Hogwarts Weekly in the hands of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. A few select Slytherins read it and Tessa is one of them. I catch the headline before she crams it in her bag: Bianchi’s Astronomy Foul!

I do my best to stop rolling my eyes and an owl replaces Hogwarts Weekly with the more dignified Daily Prophet.

I don’t bother to read it - the news is always depressing - but when Tessa releases a string of swear words that would make the Gryffindor Quidditch team shit themselves, I turn to her.

“What is it?” Emma asks.

Tessa lets the headline speak for itself.

MINISTRY MAGNATE MURDERED!

Beneath the headline sits a picture of an elderly woman in plum robes, a distinct silver W stitched upon the breast.

Unbeknownst to the girls, it’s my great aunt.


	2. act i: scene i

I am fully convinced there is nothing greater in life than relaxing by the pool with a cocktail.

Well. That’s only after shopping, and judging by the screaming and clattering coming from the house behind me, I’m not going shopping any time soon.

“Marina,” Mamma shrieks from her office window, “Did you really spend ten thousand euros in one day?”

Like she hasn’t dropped more than that on a single pair of shoes. At least I managed to buy more than just one pair.

I don’t even bother turning away from our glittering turquoise pool. In fact, I don’t even yell back at her, instead, favouring another sip of my cosmopolitan. She must be looking through last month’s finances and if that’s the case, I’ll argue my point over lunch.

One of our many house-elves brings my mail out on a silver platter. Since it’s the first of the month, a stack of glossy magazines sits beside my usual handful of letters. I already know who the first letter is from - the familiar hearts dotted on the top of the ‘i’s in my surname means the sender is the one and only Lily Luna Potter. A large black marker rolls between the stacks.

The house-elf gently places the platter on the table beside my chaise lounge and scampers off. I slide the first magazine atop the pile into my hands and flick it open. I don’t spend much time looking at the words, instead I flick through the photos, admiring a few pieces. Eventually, I pick up the marker and circle a few pictures, ripping out the pages to leave in totally obvious spots around the mansion. It’s never too early to start laying the foundations for presents.

Especially since I’m turning seventeen this year.

My coming-of-age is not something my mamma has been looking forward to, as it means the end of my father paying her. On the other hand, my father probably won’t even remember the date. His personal assistant will just send me a card a day late with a transfer receipt from Gringotts stuffed in it.

However, I have been thoroughly enjoying knowing that in exactly five months, I’ll be a legal adult. At least, I will be in the wizarding world, and anyone in the Muggle world can be won over with the right price.

I mean, I won’t have access to the trust fund that my father set up until I turn twenty-two, but it’s not like I’m going to suddenly get cut off from the Bianchi fortune.

I spend so much time baking in the rays of the sun, I think I’m imagining the sound of the bell for lunch.

I do, however, hear the pitter-patter of exposed feet and soft squeaks of pain approach me.

“Miss?” Another one of our house-elves whimpers.

I turn slowly, lifting my Dior sunglasses and squinting at the house-elf, who is doing her best to keep a straight face as the soles of her feet are, without a doubt, burning up.

“Lunch is served, miss.”

“Alright, I’ll be in soon. Fetch me my coverup.”

The house-elf scampers off and I can hear her sigh of relief as soon as she gets back into the shade. If Mamma was on a business trip right now, I’d have lunch outside, but unfortunately she’s home and that means every meal is in the dining room.

I slide my feet into my jewel-encrusted sandals and finish my cocktail. I slip out from underneath the white parasol that offers next to no shade - which is the best way to get a tan, if you ask me - and head inside the mansion.

The Bianchi mansion has been in our family for at least seven generations - it is one of three completely Unplottable homes we have, nestled in the mountains of the French-Italian border. One of the others is an apartment hidden in the centre of Rome, which was in the Volta family until Nonno Bianchi married Nonna Volta. The other is an apartment hidden in central London. We have Muggle homes all over Europe, Mamma needs them for the family import-export business. It’s quite difficult to get a Muggle into an Unplottable home without Obliviating them.

But out of all twenty-six homes we own, the Bianchi mansion is by far the grandest. Every room is spacious enough that I could probably have my school year stay here without running into them. Which would be a blessing if one of the Potter-Weasley spawn were to stay - the only exceptions being Molly Weasley and Lily Luna, of course.

We keep all twelve of our house-elves employed here, with Mamma’s two favourites making the trip to any of our other homes if needed. She regularly complains about them, but I find they can get nearly anything done in next to no time at all and they’re quite good company when they need to be.

Merlin knows living out here gets lonely.

As I walk through the kitchen, the house-elf scurries up towards me, a bundle of fabric that looks like my favourite summer dress clutched in her bony hand.

“Do you mind?” I demand, snatching it off the tiny figure and unravelling it, “You’ve ruined it by holding it like that.”

With a click of her fingers, the house-elf has smoothed out the wrinkles on my dress so I slide it on and head towards the dining room.

Sure, house-elves can just do magic at the click of their fingers, but it’s the principle that has me annoyed. They shouldn’t be carrying clothes like that in the first place.

“Marina,” Mamma says as I cross the threshold, not even bothering to put down her newspaper, “So glad you could finally join me.”

“Sorry Mamma,” I reply, not sounding apologetic in the slightest.

“Have you meditated today?” She asks, flicking the page.

“Yes, Mamma,” I reply, helping myself to a handful of cherry tomatoes. I hadn’t meditated exactly like she’d instructed me, but I had spent two hours laying in the sun, which is kind of the same thing. And I haven’t had a bad migraine since my Astronomy exam - just a few softer headaches here and there.

Nothing a shot or two of Firewhisky couldn’t fix.

“Good,” She begins, but is interrupted by my one of my father’s personal owls landing on the back of her chair, a crumpled envelope in attached to its claws. “Oh for god’s sake.”

I don’t say anything as I continue to eat my lunch. Merlin knows I’m in the shit already.

“At least your father can deliver on time,” Mamma mutters as she waves her wand over the tattered paper, ironing out what must be a receipt for his mandatory child maintenance payments.

The only time I hear from my father is when he delivers those payments.

“Here, Marina,” Mamma says as she waves her wand and a small piece of paper floats to my end of the table.

I unfold the parchment and read the message inside. It’s not even my father’s handwriting, in fact, I don’t think he’s handwritten me anything since I was a child. I can faintly recall he hand-wrote The Warlock’s Hairy Heart, a tale that gave me nightmares, in a leather-bound journal for me, thinking I’d like it.

Instead, in handwriting that must belong to his latest personal assistant, reads:

“Congratulations on your O.W.L results! Love, Dad.”

It takes all of my self control to not set the paper on fire.

“Did you buy yourself a nice dress?” Mamma asks after letting me simmer for a few moments.

“What?”

“The order,” She says simply from behind the pages of Barron’s.

Oh. That. I’d almost forgotten about my impulse spending spree.

“I did.”

She pauses for a second before turning the page again. “Do you have a pair of shoes that aren’t six inches high?”

I can’t help but drop my fork. “What?”

“Marina,” Mamma scolds, “I said, do you have a pair of shoes that aren’t heels?”

“Uh, no. Why?”

“We have a business meeting tonight.”

“We? Business meeting?”

“Yes, Marina.”

This is a development. Not only was I banned from even breathing near her study as a child, but I was sent up to my room when she received so much as a phone call.

“You’re taking me to a business meeting?”

“Well, I’ll be discussing business and I need you to entertain his son.”

“Entertain? His _son_?”

“Yes.” She actually drops the magazine, but it might be because she’s offended I’m being so slow. “The González family are looking to ship to Europe and I was their first port of call. I don’t want to be outnumbered, so I need you to take Eduardo out for the evening.”

“Mamma! I’m with Ryan.”

How she's forgotten that is completely and utterly beyond me.

“Ryan? What is that boy going to offer you? I’ve told you a hundred times Marina, that boy is useless. You're much better off with a Muggle man with money.”

I don’t have words. She knows how I feel about Ryan, we’ve been together for nearly four years now! We’re practically engaged - Ryan’s said the only thing that’s stopped him is the fact I’m not of age.

But she doesn’t let me speak. She picks up her magazine and continues to leaf through the pages.

“The González boy is only six-two so don’t even think about wearing your Louboutins.”

Unbelievable. “What else am I supposed to wear?”

“We’ll get you some flats to wear before. You need to charm him, and you can’t do that if you’re towering over him.”

I nod my head in resignation and pick up my fork. There’s no point arguing that I’m with Ryan, it’ll just end up with us both talking in circles and me getting kicked out for the night.

“Do I need to wear a particular colour?” I ask after a while, dejected. Mamma is always incredibly particular with what clothes she wears to certain meetings and I need to be if I’m involved.

“I don’t think you’ll mortally offend anyone, just make sure it’s decent, Marina.”

I want to sigh, but I bite my tongue. She uses the receipt from Gringott’s as a bookmark in her magazine.

“Is it decent?” She demands.

I have to consider it.

The dress is a gauzy white with black polka dots and a deep v-neck, which might as well be an exhibit for my sliver of cleavage. But it does cover my ass, arms and my abdomen, which wins it the title of ‘most modest’ in my wardrobe. The bishop sleeves elevate it from a normal, everyday dress into something I could wear to Hogsmeade on a date - with the right accessories, of course.

“Decent enough,” I say after a while.

“Good. I’ll be Apparating us in an hour, pack what you need for the night.”

I take this as my sign to leave, just in case things start flying in my direction, and head up to my room to pack some things. I brush past the house-elves waiting in line by the open doorway for their cue to remove the dishes and storm up the grand staircase and towards my wing of the house. After living in a tiny cottage in Godric’s Hollow for the first eleven years of my life, moving to Italy was one hell of a change.

Not only do I have a house-elf on demand, I’ve got a bathroom larger than the girl’s dormitory at school, a separate study area and an entire walk-in wardrobe. Every part of the ancestral Bianchi mansion is opulent, no expense too grand for one of le case sacre.

My room remains largely the same, unlike our kitchen, which was renovated for the third time while I was sitting my OWLs. I’ve had the worn out red carpets removed and a new mattress installed, with a handful of the house-elves being tasked with keeping my room in a livable state for the entire year.

They do not get paid just to let my room get dusty and disgusting when I’m not there.

I don’t even bother peeling off my coverup - Mamma probably has something important planned if we’re leaving so early just for one meeting - and my soft leather suitcase is split open on my four-poster bed, ready to be filled. It’s only one night, but I have to look my best at all times, so I pack my new pyjamas, a blush-pink satin slip with a matching kimono and a pair of fluffy white slippers. The dress gets folded carefully and packed up and I slip a pair of heels on just in case Mamma decides she wants me ready at this exact moment.

Patience is not a virtue in our household. It’s a waste of time.

I head towards my vanity and pack up all the makeup I might need for the night - Merlin knows what my mamma wants from me - and I head back towards my bed. My mail has re-appeared on my bedside table, the loops of Lily Luna Potter staring at me. I strut over, grab the envelope and shove it in my suitcase. Whatever she needs, it’ll have to wait.

* * *

I long to be curled up in my bed, shielded by my scarlet curtains, but instead I stand in the foyer of Four Seasons, my glossy hair perfectly curled, clad in the flattest shoes known to mankind. 

The González family have already tarnished their reputation by daring to be more than a minute late. Anyone who isn’t so finely-tuned to my mamma’s moods might not notice it, but she reeks of anger. The receptionist smiles meekly from behind his desk, isolated in the center of a marble lake.

“Have you got plans?” Mamma demands, checking the time on her delicate gold watch.

I know better than to have not planned anything.

“I made reservations at three restaurants, two wine bars and organised a late-night walk in Orto Botanico di Brera.” I reply, checking my phone for the time. Three minutes past eight. Someone is going to be in deep, deep shit.

For once in her lifetime, my mamma has the decency to say something remotely positive. “Good.”

It’s not exactly like I’m going to be winning an Order of Merlin for my organisational skills tonight, but given that I don’t want to be here, I think I’m doing quite well. The clock ticks to six minutes past eight.

I think that my mamma is going to skin this González man alive, but when she embraces him with all the charm in the world, I’m a little confused.

She speaks something in Spanish, and then returns to Italian to hiss at me. “Speak to him!”

I glance towards the man my mamma will be doing business with, lean forward and kiss him on both cheeks, the way I was taught to greet people as a child.

“You must be Marina?” He says, a slight accent to his words. His brown eyes twinkle in the light of the chandeliers. His face feels vaguely familiar in the same way that I can half-recall a dream. His edges seem fuzzy - almost grey, a murky sort of colour that I wouldn’t expect out of a businessman.

“Yes,” I reply, flashing my straight, white teeth at the man in an attempt at friendliness. Before I start lying through them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, when I heard that Aurora had a daughter the same age as my Eduardo, I couldn’t believe it!” He smiles, half-sincerely, half like a Basilisk about to devour its prey. “He’ll be down in a minute, his mother just rang.”

Fortunately, after four years of dominating the Hogwarts social scene, I can handle this. His attempts to be intimidating are long-lost on me.

It takes more than that.

A five o’clock shadow of stubble hides his chin, as if he couldn’t be bothered to shave for us, which I find mildly offending. Mamma doesn’t seem to take it to heart, but judging by the contents of a manila folder she made me look at while the house-elves gave me a mani-pedi, he’s always like this.

The face of his son, who is a year older than me in the awkward crux between man and boy, is now have burned into the back of my head. He’s six-two with a face like a fish and the haircut of someone who failed military school. He isn’t known to speak Italian, but he can speak English, so that will at least bridge the gap between us.

There was no comment on his schooling, so I’ve already decided to keep my wand safe in an inside pocket and my gift for tonight, a new necklace with a step-cut emerald that’s about the size as my pinky nail, has been imbued with every single Protego for safety. What kind of shipping business requires protection spells is beyond me, but I’m not going to argue. It’s a sort-of security blanket and a gentle nod towards my school loyalty. I can barely feel the delicate gold chain around my neck, but even the knowledge that it’s there reassures me.

Mamma and Mr González talk quietly in Spanish, a conversation I can tell is nothing deeper than small talk, as we wait for Eduardo.

My phone hums in my hand and I take a moment to check it. I never get signal at home - it’s one of the side effects of living in the middle of nowhere in a magical mansion - so most of my texts start coming through now. A few from Vari, several from Scorpius, one or two from the boys on the Quidditch team and absolutely nothing from my beloved boyfriend.

_Emma Reynolds_

_hey babe, have u heard from tessa lately? she’s been really quiet. hope ur holidays are going well xx_

__

My phone recognises my face and unlocks, letting me type out a quick response.

**She hasn’t been texting you?**

My phone hums again less than a second later

_weird, right?_

My nails click against my phone screen as I tap out my reply.

**Yeah, she’s probably working though.**

My phone buzzes again, but Mamma’s elbow meets mine in a sharp jab. I look up and find myself face-to-face with none other than Eduardo Torres González. He doesn’t look like such a fish in comparison to the photo but he is still sporting the failed attempt at army-chic hair. His eyes are surprisingly blue, like a pixie, and equally as mischievous. His gaze slips down to my necklace, an eyebrow raising slightly, before his eyes lock on to my slight cleavage.

It would appear that today is going to be a test of my self-control.

He takes my hand, raises it to his lips and plants a kiss on the back.

“Mucho gusto,” He says softly, his grin alarmingly devious.

All I can hear in my head is Mamma’s command. _Charm him_.

Every part of me is itching to run, but I inhale, the smell of his cologne overwhelming my senses. I have no other option than to do as I’m told. As much as it repulses me, everything about tonight will be part of a performance. I lower my head and force myself to blush, looking up through my lashes.

He takes the slightest step back, a move I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t so anxious, and gasps, barely audible. Our parents, who are now arm-in-arm and walking towards the exit, are none the wiser.

“Are those contacts?”

I brush a strand of hair behind my ear and look as bashful as I can, praying I haven’t butchered an attempt at a shy smile. It’s a carefully calculated move - one that worked on Ryan all those years ago. The fact he’s even commenting on my eyes makes me feel nauseous.

The truth is, that my eyes are a constant reminder of my father. Aside from the mismatched eyes - one green and one dark brown - I am the spitting image of Mamma. The eyes are what betray me when I look in the mirror. The one slice of him I can’t quite shake off.

But Eduardo doesn’t know that.

He doesn’t need to know that.

“No,” I reply, “They’re natural.”

“Wow,” he breathes before straightening out his suit jacket and I can tell, by the sparkle in his eyes, that he’s not being sincere.

I take a moment to drink in his choice of clothes - a crisp, white shirt with smart black trousers and a blazer to match. His shoes are classic: shiny black leather tapered to a square toe and laced up neatly.

He offers me his arm and I accept it, looping my arm into his and resting my crimson talons on his clothed forearm.

If he wants to play this game, he better get ready.

I’m Aurora Bianchi.

I don’t lose.


	3. act i: scene ii

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale —- Merlin, what is the point of this shit? The only time I should be paying attention to my breathing is when I’m hitting a fucking joint.

No, breathing exercises are bullshit. I crack open an eye and take a look at the one of the other meditation techniques.

  1. Pretend you’re a colour.



That might do it.

I close my eyes again and resume my half-lotus position atop my bed. If only the girls could see me now, trying to focus on not focusing and just relaxing. They wouldn’t believe their eyes.

I am the colour green.

The colour of grass, of my left eye, of basil — of weed, of the shade I am going to turn when Ryan dares resurface after this silence — fuck. I’ve done it again.

_CRASH-_

There’s a loud thud as something hits my desk and a discontented screech from my unwelcome guest. There’s three options here: Tessa or Ryan have finally deemed me important enough to send an actual owl to or, judging by the date, my O.W.L. results have arrived. The red wax stamp sealing the envelope tells me it’s the latter.

The culprit, a large tawny owl, shakes itself off before giving me an angry hoot and flying back out the splintered window. Fractured shards of the Bianchi coat of arms lay across my desk.

Guess I’ll have to get a house-elf to repair that.

I pick up the letter and crack the seal open. I just hope I haven’t completely failed.

_Ordinary Wizarding Level results for a Miss Marina Aurora Bianchi._

****

_Pass grades: Outstanding (O), Exceeds Expectations (E), Acceptable (A)_

_Fail grades: Poor (P), Dreadful (D), Troll (T)._

_Astronomy: E_  
Charms: A  
Defence Against the Dark Arts: D  
Divination: O  
Herbology: P  
History of Magic: T  
Muggle Studies: E  
Potions: P  
Transfiguration: D

Somehow, throwing up in my Astronomy practical hardly had an impact on my grade. That’s amazing.

My eyes flick down to the next grade.

Wait. What? An A in Charms? I did all of those spells nonverbally? What the fuck?

That’s actually ridiculous.

I barely read the rest of the page, my judgement plunging into dangerous territory. I’m barely aware that I’ve screamed, my vision going black for a split second and when it returns, every possible glass surface has been reduced to dust. Even the opulent mirror - a present from a long-dead relative for being baptised - that sits in the corner of my room hasn’t been spared.

“Marina!” I can hear Mamma screech, even though she’s in the other wing of the house. I can hear her footsteps approach, her heeled feet clacking against the marble of our hallways.

I turn to face her in my open doorway and take a proper look at the damage I’ve dealt. The door was shut, but even that has been shattered to pieces. The crimson canopy of my bed has fallen: the four posts have become nothing but splinters and collapsed, a small greying plume escapes from underneath. A blizzard of feathers from what was my bedding swirl around the room and the smell of smoke lingers in my nose.

I haven’t made a mess quite like this in a long time. I can’t recall ever accidentally setting something alight without a wand.

“For Merlin’s sake,” Mamma says, sighing as she waves her wand twice: once to put out the fire that is my bed and once more to summon the army of house-elves. “Could you not lose your temper for once?” She clocks on to the envelope in my hand, the telling Hogwarts crest in full view.

She silently Accio’s the paper and I watch as she turns the same colour as a Gryffindor scarf.

“What is this?” She shrieks.

I don’t even have it in me to yell back. “My grades.”

“You passed -- Four?”

The ground trembles under her scream.

“I did well in Divination though,” I try and deflect the rage that’s boiling through her.

“Of course you did,” she snaps, not even looking at me. “It’s only a matter of time until your first prophecy.”

I stand quietly, hands clasped behind my back as I examine my chipped pedicure. That needs re-doing. Mamma sighs dramatically, as is the custom in our household, and all I’m left with is the faint whoosh of her Apparating away.

I pack in barely any time at all, or rather, the house-elves pack for me in next to no time. They also return my room to normalcy in less than a minute, which is quite a feat considering the damage I’ve dealt. Mamma will be on the warpath and getting out of her way will be my best bet. Self-preservation in our house is a necessity.

I grab a handful of Floo powder and march to her office. Unsurprisingly, the fireplace is empty.

Anyone that lights a fire in Italy in the middle of July is out of their mind.

Or just running away.

Fortunately, all of our houses are connected via the Floo network, after hefty donations to several wizarding governments. 

I could probably get away with lighting the fire myself - all it takes is a handful of Galleons and the Italian Ministry would look the other way - but I don’t want to give Mamma another reason to be angry, so I call one of the house-elves to her office. With a click of his fingers, the fire roars to life.

I throw the emerald powder in and step into the rising flames, calling out the address of our London apartment.

My phone buzzes endlessly as I step out into our hallway. Nearly fifty notifications come through as I brush myself down, tracking soot across our hardwood floors. I can’t really get away with using magic here, and there’s no way in hell I’m wasting my precious time finding a mop, so I leave it there.

A house-elf will just be made to do it, it doesn’t matter.

Once I’m mostly soot-free, I pull my phone out from my pocket and unlock it. A lot of the notifications are just Instagram, but Emma has sent me no less than five texts and three Snapchats.

_Emma Reynolds_

****

_babe, why didnt u say something? Xx_

****

_are u related to these guys? xx_

****

_ur not gonna believe this xx_

****

_have you heard from tessa? still worried xx_

The latest slaps me right in the cheek.

_hope ur owl results were good! text me when ur going shopping!_

I open the snapchats slowly, processing the videos. For some reason, Emma’s recorded the headlines from the Daily Prophet.

MINISTRY OFFICIAL MURDERED IN MUGGLE MUSEUM

AUROR ASSASSINATED

UNSPEAKABLE LEFT FOR DEAD

The words quickly start swimming, floating around of their own accord as Emma rifles through copies of the Daily Prophet. I tap through the videos and let them disappear into the abyss.

I open the group chat and type out my call to arms.

**HBIC**

**In London. Shopping tomorrow, Leaky. 10am.**

In less than a second after sending it, Vari’s replied.

_**Can’t, cousin’s getting married.** _

Well. One down. Two to go.

Emma replies almost immediately.

_can’t wait!!!_

I grab my suitcase and head to my room. The soot might be mostly gone, but that’s not good enough. I cannot be seen in public in anything remotely dirty, for Merlin’s sake - so I grab a pair of denim shorts and a loose button-up and change, throwing the dirty clothes in the laundry.

As much as I try not to think about them, the headlines lurk in the back of my mind. Why does Emma even think I care about a bunch of Ministry officials getting killed? It’s more of a favour, really, when you look at it. Who really wants to work for the Ministry?

After a spritz of perfume, I grab my suitcase and head outside to get a taxi to Leaky. I can’t stay here, but with the black Gringott’s card in my wallet, the wizarding world is my oyster. At least that’s what Tessa says. An assortment of other cards line the inside of my Fendi wallet, giving me access to more funds than the entire Ministry probably sees in a day. My muggle allowance is probably going to get halved, but I can still work with that.

That is, if Mamma even bothers to go to the bank and sort it. She’s been locked away in her office since we met the Gonzalez family, a charm placed on the room to stop the house-elves from listening in.

I tell the taxi driver to take me to Leaky and after a few moments of him trying to find the postcode, we settle on dropping me off at the corner of Charing Cross Road. Fortunately, he doesn’t try and talk to me, instead taking the permanent frown on my face as a sign to not try for small talk. For that alone, I hand him a fifty pound note when we arrive.

“Keep the change,” I say over my shoulder, pulling my suitcase out onto the street corner. I slam the door behind me and watch as the cab drives away. The walk to Leaky isn’t far and I’m there before I know it, my heels clicking against the pavement.

The familiar stink of the Leaky Cauldron confronts me as I open the door. I have not missed the smell of British cuisine - if you can even call it that. The place is barren, besides one hunched over man with a mop of long, white hair in what looks like a nightgown. 

I approach the bar and tap my nails against the slab of polished oak. When nobody appears, I pull out my phone and indulge my social media addiction. Now that Lily’s finally settled on her electives - Care of Magical Creatures and Divination - she’s back to posting about the family and friends Quidditch matches on her Instagram story. Albus sits on the sidelines with his nose in a book with Victoire, who is clapping Professor Lupin on, beside him. I can make out Molly’s ass in the distance as she bends down to do something in the bushes. Unfortunately, my least favourite person is in the midst of the action, as one James Sirius Potter snatches the Quaffle off Nolan Wood.

It’s not that I dislike him because he’s a Gryffindor. I don’t subscribe to the primitive belief that all Slytherins have to hate Gryffindors. I get along fine with Louis Weasley, for Merlin’s sake, and he’s as Gryffindor as they come!

But something about Potter just rubs me the wrong way. Does he have to be so arrogant and brainless? No. Is he? Of course he is. I didn’t start Hogwarts with my reputation. I earned it. So how dare he walk around like he owns the place just becau---

“Good afternoon!” A cheery voice booms from the other side of the bar.

I drop my phone with a clatter, clutching my chest as I say a few choice words in Italian.

“That didn’t sound friendly,” The man replies, brushing a hand through his shaggy black hair.

I can feel my insides cheer as I return to my resting bitch face. “Maybe it wasn’t. I want a room for six weeks.”

He picks up a clipboard and my phone buzzes on the side. I don’t pick it up, instead I take the chance to read this man’s name tag.

“Six weeks?” He confirms, not even looking up from the papers in his hands.

“Yup.”

“Alright,” He says, “Would you like breakfast?”

“Yes. Continental at eight every morning.”

He raises an eyebrow but says nothing before handing me a key.

“Second floor, room eighteen.”

“Thanks, Elijah.” I say, with my best sweet smile. He seems a little shocked that I’ve even bothered to read his nametag, much less put effort into saying it.

Just because I don’t order a horrifically fatty full English doesn’t mean I don’t want to eat. Honestly, it’s like British wizards don’t care about calories. I carry my suitcase - which is thankfully fairly light because of the feather-light charm on it - up the two flights of stairs and down the corridor to room eighteen. It’s not a large, airy room, but it’ll do the job. All I really need is a bed, a bathroom and maybe a desk, which I have.

I take my time to unpack, I am here for six weeks, after all. Once the clothes are removed, I have to sort through the rolls of parchment that remain from the end of fifth year. Every single one goes in the bin. If they’re not good enough to get me decent grades, they aren’t gonna be much help to anyone else either.

Not that I can auction off my notes when they have that many doodles on. And my handwriting is an absolute mess. Anyone that can make sense of it could have it for free.

I order room service for dinner, after deciding I’d much rather suffer through the poor excuses for meals they serve here than surrounded by people on the pub floor, and Elijah brings me my risotto himself. He doesn’t get much of a chance to say anything before I snatch the tray out of his hands and shut the door in his face.

It’s not exactly an enjoyable meal, but it doesn’t taste terrible. A little less oil next time, perhaps. I leave the plate on the desk and consider what I could do for the evening. There’s a wizarding nightclub deep on Knockturn Alley, but it’s an absolute dump. Cheap alcohol mixed with garish neon lights is the entire foundation of The Thestral’s Wings. It’s the only wizarding nightclub around, so it sees a lot of people. I’m half tempted to go - I need a drink and I could do with talking to someone in the flesh. But the place will probably be empty, and after the events of last summer, they’ve probably put down an age line.

I turn seventeen soon enough. It’s not like I’m counting down the days until the beginning of December.

Ok. I might be, but there’s nothing wrong with that.

Instead of putting in all of my effort to the outfit I’m going to wear downstairs, I fall back on one of my classic looks: a pair of black high waisted jeans with a crop top and heels. I leave my room and head downstairs to the bar.

The bar floor is still suspiciously empty, although the old man from earlier hasn’t moved so much as an inch. I think he’s asleep. Elijah stands behind the bar, drying a glass with a tea towel.

I approach carefully as he slides the glass to stand with the others.

“Can I get you anything?”

I have to pause and consider it. I wanted the warmth of being in a room of strangers, not just a drink, but I nod.

“Honestly, I could sell ya anythin’,” he says, the wrinkles from a frown forming in his forehead, “so just tell me what you want.”

“Double firewhisky,” I reply, dropping myself into a bar stool. “Long day?”

“Long month.” He replies, not even measuring my drink properly. Some part of my face must be making it look like I care, because once he slides me my drink, he continues. “Business has been getting slow. Nobody wants to be out late, so no customers.”

The quizzical raise of my eyebrow is entirely involuntary.

“You know,” he says, dropping the tea towel on the bartop, “the murders?”

It takes a moment for me to twig what he’s even on about. That would explain why Emma sent me those headlines.

“Anyways, business started slowing down around the end of June, we’ve seen maybe - six people come through since then?”

“Mmm.” I nod, pretending I’m paying attention.

That’s all it takes for him to begin some long spiel about being a bartender or something, I’m not sure. His mouth is moving, but all I can think about is what I’m gonna wear tomorrow. It has to be cute, but practical. I can walk on the cobblestones in Diagon Alley in any heels, but I don’t want to look completely out of place next to Tessa and Emma. Some heeled booties would be the best option, but it’s the middle of July and it’s hot. The only reason you should have warm feet is because you’re warming them by the fire. Or the underside of your boyfriend’s thighs.

No. Sandals will probably be my best option, or I could just say fuck it and throw on my heels. I always feel better in a good pair of heels.

I’m not entirely sure how much time has passed, or how many firewhiskys I’ve actually had, but given the quiet humming in the back of my head and the tilt to everything in the room, I should probably get to bed.

It’s seven-thirty when I decide to crawl out of bed. The pillows are just how I like them, firm, but not like I’m breaking my neck, and the duvet is just the right amount of warmth. Thank Merlin for charmed bedding. I roll over and check my phone. I have a few missed messages - Emma has text me outside of the group chat and Tessa has actually pulled her phone out of her ass long enough to reply. I open Emma’s first, and naturally it’s signed off with several heart emojis.

_Emma Reynolds_

_Godric, she’s such a bitch. Who even replies at 2am!!!!!_

_Will be late, hope to make it. Capn Pudge got in another fight. Gotta go to the vet._

I slide open the group chat and read Tessa’s message.

Sounds great. See you there.

The complete lack of emojis rubs me the wrong way. What are we, her cellmates? Fuck off. I eat breakfast in bed, lounging about in the warmth of my own rest as I indulge in what has to be the flakiest croissants known to the world. Absolutely divine. I sip my coffee throughout my morning routine after pouring far, far too much sugar in than is healthy for me. At least Emma’s not here to patronise me. Her and food are nothing short of complicated.

After perfecting my makeup, I check the time. It’s still early - barely ten, and my face is nothing short of amazing. It has to be, in this case. The girls can’t know I slept for a whole ninety-five minutes. For a start, I’d probably be dropped as a social liability.

Since it’s five minutes past ten, I take the chance to do a triple-check of my outfit.

Once I’m pleased that not even a hair is out of place, I leave my room and lock the door behind me. I don’t care that I’m fifteen minutes late, I’m Aurora Bianchi. I don’t wait on anyone, they wait on me.

Since she’s the only person in the pub, I can spot Tessa’s blonde hair immediately and thankfully she’s at least put some effort into how she looks today. She’s wearing a white blouse that has a cute Peter Pan collar with a black ribbon tied in a bow underneath. She stands and greets me with an air kiss, a candy pink smile painted on her face.

“Coffee?” I ask, putting a hand in my bag to fish around for my wallet, “Emma’s going to be running late.”

“Oh no!” She replies, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. Merlin’s testicles, what is that on her neck? It looks like she’s tried to smother a bruise in concealer. “Is she alright?”

“That furball of hers. Apparently he got into a fight.” I try my best to hide my disgust at her neck.

My face obviously betrays me, as she leans back a little. Tessa is entirely too perceptive when it comes to my moods, but it’s always been like that. Everyone else knows before me, it would seem.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t have time to get a manicure,” She says, clasping her hands. As if her bare nails are the worst crime committed here.

But I’ll take a scapegoat when I see one.

“It’s fine, we’ll get new ones today. My treat,” I reply, gently touching her forearm. “Let me get coffee.”

I nestle my handbag in the crook of my elbow and get her usual order - black, no sugar. I’m back at the table but despite barely taking five minutes, she’s already scrolling through her phone. She smiles and stuffs it back into her bag when I place her coffee in front of her. We head out together, arm in arm. At least she won’t be distracted by her phone in Diagon Alley.

There’s no goddamn signal.

“Flourish and Blotts first,” She says with a grin, pulling a piece of parchment out of her handbag. “I’ve got books to buy.”

“You did it?” I squeal, catching her hand in mine, “You got the grades?”

“Five O’s! I’m on course to become a Healer. If I get all O at the end of this year then I’m put on a waiting list for an internship to St Mungo’s!” She all-but squeaks and we bounce up and down in the middle of the street, a feat that I’m surprised my heels don’t argue at.

“Ohmigodric! That’s totally amazing hon!”

Of course, Tessa hasn’t wanted to be a Healer for a while - she changed her mind at the last minute before our OWL exams. At first she was into Magizoology, but then Thestrals were introduced and she went right off it after that.

“What about you?” She asks after a while, rubbing the back of her neck. “Did you… y’know, pass?”

“I’m in on Muggle Studies, Astronomy and Divination,” I reply, taking a look at my smudged lipstick on my to-go cup.

“That’s good,” she says quietly, “Your mum mind?”

I don’t even shrug. I don’t really want to consider what my mother is doing right now. “We’d best get inside.”

Tessa smiles gently and walks into the bookstore.

“Have you decided what you want to do after school?” She asks as she searches the map of the store for the NEWT textbooks.

With the amount of money I’ll inherit, I don’t actually need to sit and think about what I want to do with my life. I’ll probably just do what Mamma does, dramatically donate money to the Ministry every so often and make questionable business deals. I wonder if anything’s actually come out of meeting the González family. Money isn’t a topic I openly discuss, but anyone with a working brain and knowledge of pureblood lineage knows that my Mamma is worth more than I can fathom. My father, who was promoted to Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Prophet when I was 10, is probably worth a fraction of our wealth in Italy. Of course, he has a bit of a reputation for being the longest-standing Editor the Daily Prophet has seen since the corrupted Ministry was re-formed and the most insufferable.

Tessa, on the other hand, needs a job as soon as she leaves Hogwarts. That’s how it is in her house. Her mother was nearly giving birth while working and barely took any time off. Her father works in one of those low-paid factory jobs that might as well be replaced by a machine. Emma, on the other hand, has some savings. She gets an allowance, like I do, but nothing ridiculous.

“You’re so lucky, ‘Rora.” Tessa begins as she pulls a copy of Advanced Potion-Making from the shelves and moves on. “You must have it all.”

Fortunately, I’m not facing her, otherwise my expression would’ve said it all. Instead, I murmur to myself about picking up my books and head off. Quite how she’s so ignorant to the things I have to put up with is beyond me.

She always says that I’m lucky. As if having all the money in the world makes my parents pay attention to me. I can’t recall either of my parents actually caring about me, and I probably learnt to walk thanks to the house-elves. I’ve visited Tessa’s in the summer - the one between second and third year - and her parents dote on her. Emma, who’s the eldest of her sisters, seems happy enough.

The reality of it all is that I am the cursed only child of my parents failed marriage.

Thankfully, I only need three books, which means more space in my trunk for clothes, and I’m not going to let anyone take any of my fashion moments away from me. I already have outfits planned for the first three parties of term, but it really depends who invites me where.

I never host anything, but everyone wants me to show up at their party. Me showing up means that they’re actually on my radar, and that means they’re actually worth something to the Hogwarts social scene.

I slip to the front of the store and grab a wicker basket for my textbooks. Despite putting up with mother’s complaints over the summers about quite why I need a Divination textbook when the Bianchi line is riddled with known seers, I buy it. It’s mandatory reading, but I’m probably not going to actually read it. Tessa will, and she’ll just tell me the important stuff.

Speaking of Tessa, she’s quietly talking to the clerk behind the counter, who seems to be frowning at the piece of paper in her hand. I saunter across the shop floor and dump my basket beside the till.

“Is there a problem?” I demand, using the haughty voice I’ve perfected on the house-elves.

The clerk visibly shrinks. The piece of card in Tessa’s hand trembles.

“Is there?” I demand.

“We’ve just never heard of this before,” He begins, visibly quivering. “The Hogwarts bursary?”

“Add it to my bill,” I say sternly, pushing my basket forward. “I’ll pay.”

He takes the books out of my basket with sharp, jerky motions, like a snake devouring it’s prey, and bags them up together. I flash my black Gringott’s card and his eyes bulge. It’s accepted immediately and I flash the salesman my best smile and take my receipt, walking away.

Tessa grabs the bags as I leave, heading straight for Fortescue’s. Who needs a cauldron when you can get a decent ice cream?

I march towards the store, and Tessa runs to catch up with me. It’s only across the road, so I don’t know why she’s being so dramatic.

“My house-elves don’t make such a big deal out of carrying things and they aren’t even human,” I mutter. She flushes bright red, so I guess I was a little too loud.

“What flavour do you want?” I ask, gesturing to the cabinet.

“One scoop of Earl Grey & Lavender and one Apple Crumble please,” She says.

“Tell it to the guy, I don’t care.”

She blushes again, right when I think she can’t turn any redder. She repeats her order to the guy behind the counter, who waves his wand and her order is magically prepared. I order two scoops of Salted Caramel Blondie and one scoop of Sticky Toffee Pudding. Fortescue’s place isn’t bad, but it could be a lot better. It could do with a decent Scourgify. We have magic, there’s no excuse to be grimy and disgusting.

Tessa’s face darkens slightly as she spots the stacks of the Daily Prophet in their holder.

“Aurora, have you seen this?” She asks, gesturing for me to come over.

“Seen what?” If she’s going on about some other stupid murder, she’s going to be next -

Wait, _what?_

Why is _my mother_ on the _front page_ of the Daily Prophet?


	4. act i: scene iii

**OWL EXAMS ARE RIGGED!**

Oh no.

Oh no.

Oh Godric, no. What has she done?

“Add this onto my bill,” I say, not even looking at the server as I throw myself down in one of the unsanitary corner booths.

I skim-read the entire article. Those absolute brats at the Daily Prophet have the audacity to mention my mother by name. The very name that we share. Fucking hell, why is she like this.

As always, she only cares about herself.

Tessa places my sundae in front of me, but I’ve lost my appetite. Salazar, I don’t even want to be seen right now.

Why do I have to have the most dramatic mother around?

I sink into my seat, completely uncaring about the amount of disgusting liquids that have been around here, and wish I could just disappear.

Of course, when does the universe ever let me get my way?

“Aurora Bianchi?” The familiar voice of Louis Weasley draws me out of my own self-pity. I’ve got to pull my shit together. I sit up, brush some invisible dirt off my shoulder and ruffle up my roots for some volume.

“Louis! What a surprise!” I say, leaning up to air kiss him on the cheek. “What are you doing here?”

“I could say the same for you, Bianchi,” He says, flashing us with his typical blinding grin. “I’m waiting for my dad.”

“Oh, cute,” I say, staring at the sweet treat in front of me. “Are you excited for sixth year?”

“Of course! I hope you’re in Muggle Studies with me, Aurora.”

Ah, Muggle Studies. A tentative bond formed between Louis and I as we teamed up to make Professor Lupin’s life absolute hell. I can see the twinkle in his blue eyes as he laughs.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Lou.”

“Of course, I’d drop out if you weren’t continuing,” he says, winking.

I can’t help the slight flush of pink that rises to my cheeks. It’s always like this when he turns on the Veela charm. Fortunately, it’s gone as quickly as it appeared and I regain composure of myself.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Louis.”

“Au contraire. It gets me everywhere, Bianchi.” He winks again before dropping some Galleons on the counter to pay for his cones, and flashes us both a wave before disappearing again.

Where a grin would usually sit on Tessa’s face, she looks sullen.

“I thought you liked him,” I tease, finally helping myself to a spoonful of my melted sundae.

Something flashes in her eyes and she takes a bite out of her cone. It’s a tactical move, she knows I hate it when anyone talks while eating.

“Mm, I don’t know. I think I’ve grown out of it.” She says after a while, dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

I can’t help the internal sarcasm that bubbles to the surface. Sure, and I’m a Hungarian Horntail.

I push my sundae away and pay quickly for our ice-creams, ushering Tessa onwards.

“What else do you need?” She asks.

“I don’t.” I’m not doing Potions any more, so I don’t need a new cauldron. I don’t need more textbooks, I don’t need fresh uniform. I don’t need anything. Will I still buy things? Of course.

“What about you?” I ask after a while.

“I need some new shirts,” she pauses, “but -”

“But what?”

“If Flourish and Blotts won’t take the bursary, then what are the odds Madam Malkin’s will?” She says, biting her lip.

“Fuck a bursary.” I sling my arm through hers. “I’ll get them for you.”

“You don’t have to,” she flushes, taking a sudden interest in her ballet flats.

“Of course I do,” I reply, tugging her towards Malkin’s. “You’re my friend.”

If she’s going to stay my friend, she has to actually wear things that fit. So I guess this is just one of those mandatory expenses.

“Thanks, Aurora,” She says as we cross the threshold. “My boobs have just appeared out of nowhere this summer.”

I can’t help but notice it now that she’s mentioned it, but I keep my mouth closed. She’s quick to find a pack of shirts in her size and hands it to me sheepishly so I can pay.

“Where next?” I ask as she takes the bag from the server.

“I need some owl treats.”

Owl treats? Owl treats? I cannot believe my shopping time has come to buying treats for a flying rat.

We head to literally every single store in Diagon Alley - even though Tessa has no money, she has absolutely no problem spending mine - and eventually we’re back at the Leaky Cauldron.

We split our books between us and I dump my half upstairs while Tessa orders us both a sandwich.

The hickey on her neck is still screaming for my attention, but we’ve passed the point where I can comfortably confront her about it. I don’t get much time to think on it before Emma slides into the booth beside Tessa.

“Ew, what are you eating,” She says, eyes full of disgust as she looks at our sandwiches. It’s one of those attempts at Muggle hipster cuisine - avocado, chicken and melted cheese. It’s alright, but I’ve had better. “My stomach churns just looking at that.”

“What about that weird juice cleanse you tried in fourth year?” I say, pointing my crust at her.

“I thought it would help me lose weight!” She exclaims. “Have I -- Ohmygodric what is that on your neck Tessa?”

Tessa turns bright red as she spits out her water in shock, clamping a hand over the bruise immediately.

“Do you want a drink?” I ask Emma as I stand up. My head is beginning to pulse, a low dangerous throb that’s all too familiar.

“Aurora! It’s still early!” Emma exclaims as Tessa mops up her water.

“It’s happy hour somewhere,” I reply, shrugging.

“White wine spritzer then. Not too strong.” 

I walk up to Elijah and flash a smile. He’s probably heard her order already - the place is literally barren - and I just gesture to the Ogden’s Old bottle that’s fixed to the wall.

I walk back to the table with our drinks on a tray and place it down with a clatter. A fresh glass of water for Tessa spills a little as I drop it. She takes it, sipping it in an attempt to avoid Emma’s relentless questioning.

“How have you been, Emma?” I ask, handing her her wine glass.

“Good. Things are finally settling down for my sister and her magic, I can’t believe she’s going to be coming to Hogwarts next year!”

“Captain Pudgekins?” I prompt.

“Oh, he’ll be fine. Dad’s enchanted his medication so he’ll heal faster.”

I don’t actually care about that stupid cat, but a front is a front. Tessa makes a sympathetic noise that sounds authentic, but she hasn’t dealt with that stupid cat ruining her clothes, shitting on her bed and leaving the insides of dead mice on her pillow.

How Emma manages to think Captain Pudgekins is the cutest thing on this planet since Pygmy Puffs is beyond me.

“I didn’t miss clothes shopping, did I?” Emma squeals, reaching into her handbag.

“Of course not, Ems.” I reply, downing what’s left of my firewhisky in one. We wouldn’t go shopping without her, that’s for sure.

“Oh, amazing. I’ve been eyeing up this cute little dress fr --”

My head throbs suddenly and insistently, as if someone’s just put a hot poker through my eye. It takes all I have in me to not scream in pain as the feeling continues. I close my eyes for a second and try to breathe through it.

I can only hear half of the conversation the girls are having, one part of me focused on my breathing and one part just refusing to hear anything but screams of anguish.

“Are you alright, Aurora?” Emma asks. My eyes are closed, but I can feel the warmth of her hand before it comes into contact with my skin. Nevertheless, I jolt when her hand reaches my cold forearm. The screaming in my head stops, the relentless question silences.

“I’m fine,” I reply, picking up my handbag. The question rings in my head: Where is it? Where is it?

Where is what?

“Shall we?” I say, trying to compose myself.

“Of course.” She replies, beaming. There’s nothing Emma loves more than a good shopping spree.

We take a cab from the front of Leaky to Oxford Street and start on the cheaper stores. Not that I want to be seen with people who are toting about a Primark bag, but Emma has an Undetectable Extension Charm on her own bag, so we can stuff everything we don’t want to be seen with in there.

Some parties just call for cheap clothes for these two, especially since they’re not on the same budget I am. That and anything held by the Gryffindors just becomes an absolute shitfest of cheap Butterbeer and Muggle lager. You’ve got to leave before it gets messy, and you never know how long the Quidditch boys have been having predrinks for.

Emma fills a basket with cheap tat, including some ‘fairy lights’ for her bed. Something about charming them to not work on electricity. Whatever.

Tessa simply browses, occasionally fondling an item of clothing and telling us that “It’s nice!”.

As if anything that’s worth less than hundreds is actually decently made.

“It’s like, a hundred percent polyester.” I counter. I can see the tackiness and piss poor sewing. “Charging more than ten pence for this is a crime against fashion.”

Tessa recoils and shuts her mouth. At least at Madam Malkin’s I paid for decent quality. Emma approaches us at a breakneck speed.

“Did you see what the gossip account posted?”

I can’t help but roll my eyes. ‘Hogwarts Weekly’, our school’s newspaper turned Instagram account over the holidays, is notorious for featuring every single step of my academic and personal life. It’s a miracle I don’t live in Godric’s Hollow any more - all the reports over the summer seem to come from there.

“Let me guess,” I sigh, “it’s about me?”

Emma hesitates. “You know?”

“Yeah,” I reply, curling a tendril of hair around my index finger, “I saw in Fortescue’s.”

“Ew! What were you doing in there? I feel so bad for you, ‘Rora.” Emma says, gently putting a hand on my arm. “How your own father could publish that, let alone on the front page.”

“It’d be more out of character if he considered any sort of loyalty towards his ex-wife, Ems.”

Emma frowns and returns to the racks of clothes. I don’t follow the gossip account - I refuse to be seen even going near it, even though it features me so prominently. Once we get back to school, the posts will start circulating via charmed pieces of parchment, since technology doesn’t work around school.

“Godric, what was her mother on.” I can hear Tessa whisper, giggling to Emma. “Do they know money can’t buy her good grades?”

I bite my tongue, turn my back to the pair and pretend to look at one of the fluffy jumpers. How insufferable they are. I’m right here!

We mill through a few more shops and after the seventh, Emma finally hits gold.

“Oh-my-Salazar!” She squeals as we walk up an escalator. “That’s it. That’s the dress.”

In front of us stands a navy skater dress with scalloping on the neckline. It’s not bad - Emma has the best taste out of all of the others - but mine is easily the best out of all of us. They know they can’t upstage something I wear, so Emma gives me a little glance. I nod slightly and she glides towards the dress.

“Come to mama,” she says quietly with a sigh of delight.

Tessa rolls her eyes, which is something new. She’s always loved coming to parties with us, and she loves shopping even more. Azkaban be damned, she had no problem using my money to buy her flying rat the most expensive treats going.

I stroll over to where Emma is fondling the dress and watch as her eyes bulge at the price.

“There’s no way this is in my budget,” she mutters, “Dad would kill me.”

I’m still fuming that she’s even gossiping about me behind my back. I pretend to be interested in something shiny in the corner and walk off. Tessa is quick to fill my spot.

Not that she’s gonna be much help, she’s literally poorer than Emma. The two of them couldn’t even buy a second hand broomstick.

I mill around for five minutes and hit the jewelry section. A lot of it is cheap tat - all just coated copper - but some of it is actual silver. Not that I’d wear silver. It’s gold or rose-gold, depending on the day, thank you very much. I know my house colours are silver and green but silver just doesn’t look right with my skin. Gold makes me glow.

I check the time on my phone. Somehow, we’ve wasted nearly five hours browsing crappy Muggle fashion chains. Granted, I can’t exactly just drop five grand in front of Emma and Tessa without them looking extremely put out, so I’ll save my trip to Mayfair for the future.

When I’m alone.

I swan towards the girls, my handbag bumping against my leg. “Dinner?”

Tessa nods eagerly, Emma a little less so. She seems distraught at the fact she’s not going to get this dress. They have to jog slightly to keep up with me, but I pay it no mind as I step out onto the street to hail a cab. The journey is quiet - Tessa and Emma can’t gossip with me in such close presence and the driver makes no attempts at conversation. We get dropped off on the same corner I arrived on yesterday afternoon and I try to join the others in an attempt at being friendlier than my ice-cold reception earlier.

“How’s life?” I ask, falling into stride with Emma, as if earlier wasn’t enough information to keep me satisfied.

“It’s alright.” She says slowly, measuring her words. “Abby is as difficult as always, really.”

I make a fake noise of sympathy. I can’t relate, and I’m only pretending to so that she feels bad for gossiping earlier. We arrive at Leaky shortly after, as I’m sure Emma sped up her walking speed so she didn’t have to continue this clearly pointless conversation.

To my surprise, there’s actually a few people in here.

And to my horror, sat at the bar, tapping out some obnoxiously off-timed beat, is Nolan Wood.

“Bianchi,” He says tersely as we approach.

I don’t even acknowledge him by name. I have better things to do with my time. Instead, Tessa greets him with a warm smile.

“Nolan! How are you?”

He seems obviously offended by my snub, but talks to Tess as if I’m not there. Like I’m missing out on much. He’s just another Weasley in my eyes, he spends so much time with them.

“I’m good. Meeting the boys for drinks.”

For a start, they’re all underage and clearly look it, so how Elijah is serving them is beyond me and second of all, they literally all live in Godric’s Hollow! Why can’t they just meet in Potter’s back garden? Salazar knows it’s big enough.

They have a makeshift Quidditch pitch in it, I’m sure they can accommodate the collective ego of - and I quote Potter here - the Gryffinbros.

I flick my hair over my shoulder and settle down in the booth we were in earlier on.

Conveniently, it’s the furthest away from the bar, where Nolan is sat.

Emma is quick to trot after me, but Tessa continues chatting for a few minutes more.

“Everything alright?” Emma asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I reply, pretending to browse the menu. “Why do you ask?”

“You look like you’re about to poison Tessa.”

I do my best at a noncommittal shrug.

“I don’t really care. She can fraternise with that idiot if she wants. Who knows, maybe she’ll actually lose her virginity.” I snap.

Emma sighs. Nolan Wood is a well-known manwhore, but she’s always crusading against my use of the word. She picks up the drinks menu and settles on a blueberry smoothie.

Tessa eventually rejoins us, sliding into the booth beside Emma. I have my bag protecting my side, so it makes sense. I don’t want anything to do with her right now.

“Have you guys decided?” She asks breathlessly.

Emma looks towards the menu. “I’m not really feeling that hungry.”

Emma and her weird diets. She’ll probably eat a few scraps of table bread, but she doesn’t exactly eat much.

Tessa takes a menu from the booth beside us and browses it herself.

“I’ll have the house special soup.”

Well, at least her sense of being cheap has kicked in.

I settle on a small salad with non-fat dressing and a smoothie too. I’m barely peckish right now, so I don’t feel like eating much.

Elijah comes over and takes our orders quite promptly.

The charm above the door tinkles as it opens and we all turn to look at the latest person to step foot into Leaky. Carrying several Muggle shopping bags stands none other than Fred Weasley and my least favourite person on the planet, James Sirius Potter. He peels his shades off and takes in the room. I can tell he’s even more underwhelmed than I was, and for a moment I enjoy it.

Then he spots us, tucked away in the corner.

“Alright, Bianchi?” He yells across the room.

Oh Godric. Why does he have to be like this. I don’t even acknowledge him. He’s not getting that out of me today.

But apparently that was the wrong choice. I can see him approach us from the corner of my eye, walking over the pub floor in that stupid strut of his. He looks like he’s got rickets.

“I said, alright, Bianchi?” He repeats, placing a hand on the table.

I roll my eyes as I look up to him with all the scorn in the world. If only that was enough to take this idiot down.

“Potter.”

“Bianchi. Didn’t think I’d see you around here.”

“Why not?”

“Figured your mum was successful in transferring you to Beauxbatons. Guess not.” He sneers.

“What?!”

“”What with her ranting on at the Ministry about how the OWL exams are biased because English isn’t your first language.” I can feel the disdain in his body as he sighs. “I’m not surprised she’s grasping at straws like that to blame anyone but you for your results.”

If I had less self-control, I might’ve thrown my smoothie in his face. But fortunately for both of us, I actually have some. I take a second and compose myself before striking back.

“It’s not even my first language and I still speak it better than you, Chamberpot.”

Fred whistles slightly, smacking James in the chest with the back of his hand. “She got you good there.”

“And if you two vermin wouldn’t mind, we’re in the middle of our conversation. Shoo.”

Louis, who has just arrived, approaches us and pulls Potter back towards the bar. Freddie is quick to follow, succumbing to our death glares.

It’s not like I don’t get along with Gryffindors. I just can’t really get along with most of the Weasley’s. Lily and Louis are the exceptions, mostly because we all like fashion. Lily is a little juvenile in her taste - everything, and I mean, everything - she owns is pink. Even her broom has little pink decorations on it.

I’m not against pink as a colour, but I much prefer to keep my palette neutral.

No, Potter and I have not got along since the very first day we met. September first of our first year of Hogwarts, I had pushed him into the Great Lake while we were approaching Hogwarts.

That was one of the only times our rivalry ever got physical. Since third year, our shared classes were put with the other houses and we only ever saw each other in Muggle Studies, which is no place for a wand, so jinxing him was out of the question.

“Anyway,” I continue, turning to Emma, “What are you even studying this year?”

“I’ll be doing Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Ancient Runes and Defence.”

“Wow, busy schedule?” Tessa prompts, a chewed up mouthful of her sandwich in plain view.

I gag.

“For the love of Merlin, have some manners!” I hiss.

She flushes and ducks her head. Had we been at school, I might’ve hexed her mouth shut. Especially since she was so keen to use it against me earlier.

Instead, I turn to Emma and smile. “Ancient Runes? Surely that’s going to get even more difficult? Is She-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named in there?”

“No word yet,” Emma replies, shrugging. Tessa has shrunk further back into the corner of the booth. “But I think so.”

I glance towards the bar as Emma addresses Tessa about her workload and watch as Elijah serves Potter a pint.

For some strange reason, I can hear the boy’s mutterings up at the bar.

“Imagine having a mother as crazy as that.”

“Shh. She’ll hear you.”

“Who cares? She’s literally the spawn of Voldemort, she doesn’t care what we say about her.”

“I think spawn of Voldy is a bit far, James. Her father is bad enough. Did you see him rip into the attempt at Goblin-Centaur summit? You’d think with all these weird murders they wouldn’t have to breach the Ministry for a story.”

Footsteps approach them, and there’s three smacks on the back of the boy’s heads.

“What have I told you about bitching about Aurora?”

I can’t help but smile as Louis returns to his seat. This is why we’re friends. Because at least he puts his idiot cousins and friends in line.

“It’s not our fault she’s such a bi-”

“Earth to Aurora?” Tessa asks, waving her hand in front of my face. Something in my head is telling me to just reach over for my fork and -- no. That wouldn’t be good.

The darkness stays inside me.

“Yes?” I say, tossing my waves over my shoulder again. “What’s up?”

“I was thinking about Divination this year. What do you think we’re gonna study?”

Emma, who has since dropped Divination, takes out her phone and takes a sudden interest in it.

“Not sure. Won’t be much of a challenge though, knowing Trelawney.” I say, picking at the skin around my cuticles. “Oh, I didn’t get us manicures! We’ll have to do that another time.”

Tessa forces a smile and turns back to her empty dinner plate.

We sit together and the girls actually properly catch up with one another while I check my Instagram. Naturally, Ryan has left incredibly thirsty comments on my trap.

A little while later, a figure approaches us, their hand resting on the table.

“You mind?” The familiar voice of Louis Weasley asks, and I look up. Flanking him is Nolan and Freddie.

“What happened to your other darling cousin?” I drawl.

“Ah, James had to go back home. Curfew.”

“What a shame.”

If Louis noticed my insincerity, he overlooks it. “Anyway, can we sit?”

“Of course,” Tessa says, invading our conversation. What’s got into her all of a sudden? First she wasn’t interested and now she can’t get enough of him? She forces Emma to budge up and Nolan slides in, much to her distaste. Louis slides in next to me, and Freddie after him.

“How can I help you, Louis?” I ask, taking a sip of my smoothie through my straw.

“I wanted to apologise for Jamie’s behaviour.”

I cock an eyebrow. Potter obviously doesn’t know this is happening. We have never apologised to each other, and he clearly has no involvement this olive branch that Louis is extending to me.

“We want to invite you to the back-to-school party.”

“Since you’re apologising, I guess we have no choice but to attend.” I say, grinning. Anything to piss off Potter.

Louis smiles back, melting my glacial attempt at a smile with his Veela light. I glance around the rest of the table, everyone is entranced. It takes a moment for Louis to realise and I watch as he tries his best to extinguish it.

His blue eyes sparkle all the same, though.

“So, what are you guys up to?” Emma asks, pushing herself as far away from Nolan as humanly possible while still remaining seated.

“We were just getting stuff for this year,” Nolan says, “Jamie’s insisting we all get our brooms serviced, and -- OW! What was that for?” He shoots a glare over the table at Freddie. “I just got a new one from my dad’s co-worker for my birthday, and I still needed some -- Ow! Can you stop standing on my toes?!” He nearly yells.

Louis laughs. “Everyone’s bound to find out that Jamie’s the Captain at some point, Freddie.”

Fred grumbles and chugs his pint, standing and heading directly to the bar, where Elijah already has a second one ready.

“You mean, Longbottom promoted Potter to Captain?” I scoff, “After the disappointment of that last game?”

Nolan doesn’t say anything and just shrugs.

“He was really pulling out the stops last year helping Lorcan out,” Louis says, with an attempt at a valiant save that Gryffindor could’ve used in their last match.

“That just means he’s a kiss-ass.”

“Your entire house is based on being kiss-asses, Bianchi.” Nolan interjects.

“Actually, it’s called ambition, Wood. Not that you’d know anything about that.”

He scoffs, and I continue pushing. I know this is going to hurt his pride.

“If you had any, you’d have that captain badge over Potter.”

“Hey!” Louis intervenes. “Jamie deserved that fair and square.”

Nolan leans back, sips on his drink and simmers quietly.

“What are we talking about?” Fred asks as he takes a perch at the end of the bench.

“Potter’s-” I start.

“We were actually just discussing what we’re taking for NEWTs!” Tessa says, jumping into the conversation like she’s actually a key player here. I shoot her a glare but the damage is done.

“Oh, I’m gonna be doing Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions and Muggle Studies.” Fred says. Muggle Studies is quite a strange thing for him to be taking, but he was half the reason Potter and I stayed out of each other’s hair in the class. “What about you guys?” He asks.

“I’m going to be doing all the things I need to become a Healer,” Tessa says, her beam is infectious. Fortunately, I’m immune.

“Astronomy, Muggle Studies and Divination.”

Fred laughs, and it coaxes a smile out of Nolan. “Nobody's surprised that you’re doing Divination, Bianchi.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I say pointedly over the rim of my glass.

Freddie pales under my glare. “I just meant - like, everyone knows who your mum is.”

“Especially after today,” Nolan laughs, spilling half his beer across his lap.

“Well, at least I’m known apart from my mother.” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “Nobody knows who you are outside of Hogwarts.”

Nolan pales as Freddie guffaws and spills his beer all over the table.

“And on that note, gentlemen, I’m heading to bed.”

It’s barely ten, so everyone knows that I’m bailing just so I can have the last word. Louis and Freddie stand up to let me slide out of the booth and I head straight to the bar, where Elijah is pretending to look busy.

“How can I help you?” He murmurs, picking up another class and polishing it.

“Another Firewhisky. And can I ask you not to allow anyone from my table to add to my tab?”

“Certainly, ma’am.” He slides me a fresh drink and assures me the tab is technically frozen until I say otherwise. I wave goodbye to the group, who seem anchored in their conversation and head up the stairs to my room.

I don’t sleep for a while - I have to go through my entire night time routine of removing my makeup, bathing, coating myself in moisturiser and putting on fresh pyjamas. I nurse my Firewhisky in bed and decide to take a glance at my textbooks. I shake the contents of the Flourish and Blott’s bag out onto the bed. A small piece of paper comes out - I pick it up to look at it, and it’s Tessa’s shopping list.

But I’m not interested in the shopping list.

I’m interested in the words on the back, which seems to be a short note.

_I can’t wait to see you again, my love. You looked incredible in that yellow dress. I couldn’t take my eyes off you all night._

The handwriting looks familiar, but I can’t quite place it. It’s a mystery for another day, so I stash it in the back of my copy of Advanced Tarot. The fact that Tessa has a secret lover who writes her notes is something I can use against her, but by the time I’ve finished my Firewhisky and my nightmares are clawing their way back into my mind, I’ve forgotten.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> who knew toilets were this versatile?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> implied domestic abuse, panic attack/s & substance abuse

By the time September 1st arrives, two more Ministry officials have been slaughtered. The Prophet stated that the release they were given was too grisly to share, and exclusive interviews with the people who found the bodies reaped nothing really worth the effort they took to read.

Fortunately, the few headaches I've been having barely bother me and with enough retail therapy, I decided to be a good friend and pick up that dress Emma was after and gift it to her. I'm not trying to be manipulative, but once she sees how sweet I'm being, she'll totally feel bad about being such a bitch.

But even without the headaches, sleeping has been difficult lately, to the point where I can count the amount of hours I've slept in the past week on my fingers alone. But I don't have time to dwell on that. At school, I can pay someone to make me draughts. The sooner classes start, the better.

Most importantly, I can't have Emma looking like shit at the first social of the year. I have standards that need to be upheld, and being a part of my inner circle means you have to look amazing all the time. I don't need to know her size - charms are so easy I could do them in my sleep - but I went a size up. Just to be sure. Magicking material out of nowhere is not the kind of spell work I want to be doing in my down time.

After settling the bill for my stay and dropping a hundred Galleons on Elijah as a tip, I get a taxi to King's Cross. Today's outfit is a classic, and I don't plan on ruining my gorgeous new Chelsea boots in today's torrential downpour. I have to change out of them for my school shoes, but since the platform is when Hogwarts Weekly makes it's official annual debut, I need to be looking at least good. And after last year's influx of Witch Weekly reporters, I need to be looking nothing less than perfect. I have standards to maintain, after all. Even if I'm in passing, I have to look amazing.

Since I can't really use magic outside of school, a Sleekeazy potion has tamed my hair for now. The jacket I'm wearing - an old-school pilot's jacket, re-lined with Puffskein fur - is my only real waterproof coat, and it's not even really waterproof, but you won't catch me wearing one of those stuffy little outdoor coats with a hood.

Fashion comes first, and who even needs a hood when umbrellas exist? I'm not about to ruin my hair just because of practicality.

Honestly.

All it takes to convince my driver to put my vintage Louis Vuitton trunk on one of the sad, rickety trolleys is the flourish of two fifty pound notes. I stuff them into one of his chubby little hands and strut away as best I can with a wonky wheel.

Much like my trunk, my overnight bag - the matching keepall - has an Undetectable Extension Charm and my initials - M. A. B. stamped on it. Of course, there's Feather-light charms on both, which is like, totally essential, considering the fact I've crammed an entire year's worth of outfits into my trunk - not to mention all of the party dresses - and my entire skincare routine is carefully stacked in the bottom of my holdall.

Making my way through to Platforms Nine and Ten with this stupid broken trolley is a task and a half, and by the time I get to the brick wall that conceals the truth about the wizarding world from all the oblivious Muggles milling about, I'm actually grateful I'm dumping the trolley soon.

I slide through the brick wall unnoticed - the only time in my life I think I ever do go unnoticed - just to be greeted with the blinding flashes of no less than six cameras. I'm a little caught off-guard, but as soon as they realise I'm not a Weasley, or worse, a Potter, they complain loudly, a few even going so far as to mutter about a waste of film.

Of course, if this were for an international magazine and not just the pathetic excuse of a publication Witch Weekly thinks it is, this piss-poor attempt at paparazzi might actually be pleased to have my face on their film. But these are also probably the very same people my father fired, who then gave him the charming nickname of Dipshit O'Donnell, so it's probably for the better that they don't know who I am.

What can I say? He was bound to step on a few toes when he reformed the Prophet.

I can still remember the discussion my parents had about it when we were all still playing the part of Happy Family. Mamma had asked him why he had done it - how he knew her business relied on people not knowing the truth, or something like that - and the only wisdom my father ever imparted to me wasn't even given to me directly.

"Muggles cut out their infections. Why can't I?"

Because that's what they were - what they made Witch Weekly become - a disease to journalism.

The sounds I heard had told me that challenging my father for Mamma's sake would be a complete miscalculation. Not that there was evidence come the morning.

And in turn, Mamma had done just that once I was at Hogwarts. Father had been the infection and we had cut him out. I had done similar, and shedded the awful family name he had given me - Marina - and replaced it with my middle name, Aurora.

Good riddance.

"Bianchi," A voice calls, drawing me out of my spiralled thoughts. I look up and see Lysander, who is casually propped up against a pillar, next to his twin brother Lorcan.

And for once in my life, I can tell the two apart. Where Xander's dark brown hair looks like it hasn't been cut since Easter, Lorcan is now sporting an attempt at a buzzcut and small hoop pierces his right earlobe. He's quick to shove a carton of Muggle cigarettes into the pocket of his leather jacket and light one with the tip of his wand.

Normally, I'd be pleased to see Xander. His presence means that Ryan isn't far off, as the two are rarely apart, but the fact that he's probably been in contact with him, when I haven't, only serves to irritate me more.

"Xander." I say with a tight smile.

"Hey," he replies, no doubt noting the tension in my shoulders. "Want me to take your case on?"

"That'd be great." I reply, incredibly conscious of Lorcan's eyes on me.

As soon as Xander is gone, my full force turns on the other Scamander. What attractiveness he held before has gone - gone with his hair and the silver hoop in his ear.

"Very brave of you to try and bring punk back, Scamander," I say, carefully reaching for my phone in my jacket pocket and checking the group chat. No new notifications.

"Well," he says, slowly taking a drag of his cigarette, "You've already cornered the market on pretentious bitch."

Pretentious bitch? That was me trying to be nice. I'll show him pretentious bitch.

The smile I cast his way clearly throws him for a loop as he straightens up, inhaling a little too quickly to truly be calm. I approach him slowly, my keepall securely in my hand. If anyone looked too closely, they'd see the whiteness of my knuckles in comparison to their usual olive tone, but that's the only physical giveaway of my anger. He presses his back against the wall as I come up close, so close I'm almost inhaling the smoke he exhaled, and I take the lowest shot I have today.

"At least now we can all tell you and Lysander apart."

His face solidifies.

His hand moves too quickly - so quickly my instincts take over - but it was all in vain - it was just for another sudden drag of his cigarette, but he's already clocked my movement and all I can do is watch as his face turns from muffled horror to that pitiful concern I can't stand and my legs - my legs are taking me away as quickly as they can to the nearest carriage in the hopes that I might - I might just find somewhere to recover alone.

I shut myself in the sad excuse for a toilet this train has and throw myself down on the closed lid, willing myself to pick up the pieces. Perhaps the lack of sleep I've had is finally getting to me. Not that anybody can know that. I take a few deep breaths - the kind Mamma always insists I use when I meditate - and calm myself. I'm not sure how long has passed by the time I find the courage to leave the bathroom, but nobody is waiting for me outside, so I assume it wasn't long.

I head to my compartment, the one me and the girls have been using since second year and get settled down, reading a copy of Vogue to pass the time. The first person to arrive is Emma, her overnight bag in one hand and her cat carrier in the other. Captain Pudgekin's reaction is instantaneous - he's hissing as if his life depends on it.

"Merlin," Emma says, throwing her jacket over the carrier once she's set it down, "why does literally every animal hate you?"

I shrug and continue leafing through the glossy pages, dog-earing the ones I want to go back to later. Quite why animals hate me is beyond me, but it's been a problem for my entire life. Mamma's prized Bengal, Bastet, ran away when I was barely walking. Not that she'd let me forget that.

Emma quickly snatches my attention back as she drops a stack of magazines that she's dug out from the bottom of her handbag.

"The extension charm holding up alright?" I say over the top of my magazine, nodding towards her tan leather bag.

"What? Oh, yeah." She pauses for a moment, looking around and lowering the blinds to the train's corridor a little before she speaks again. "I have a question for you."

I carefully close the copy of Vogue and place it on my lap. Emma's rarely serious with me - in fact, we're all rarely serious with each other. Not in this concerned way her expression is contorted.

"I did some reading," she says, gently perching on the bench next to me, "And I found out that Wizengamot lady was your great-aunt."

Her intonation rises, as if she's thinking of it as a question, but the declaration is there. The jab at me is in there too - why didn't I trust her enough to share in the first place?

"What? How is that relevant?" I scoff, opening my magazine again and raising it between us as if it's a physical Protego.

"Maybe someone -"

"Look," I start, shutting her up before she has a chance to start this stupid train of thought, "I met her like once, when I was like five years old, so I barely even know her, and she's worked as a member of the Wizengamot for like fifty years or something stupid, so I think she's got her fair share of haters."

"Who has her fair share of haters?" A voice comes from the opening doorway. Standing in all her glory is the last quarter of my friendship group, the very quarter I haven't seen since summer started - Vari Arumin - not that I'm particularly close with her. It was take her or not, and she latched on to Emma as if her life depended on it during our second year. And I'm not getting rid of Emma just because Vari needs her to live and breathe.

Plus, it had helped me win the best times in the showers in our dorm - four beats one. Paris never stood a chance.

"Omigosh," Emma squeals, greeting Vari as if she's been infected by a Bouncing Bulb and immediately sits down. Vari's owl screeches as she puts it's cage down. She carefully pulls a bright scarf out from her bag, like one of those Muggle magician wannabes, throws over it over the cage and the feathered bastard immediately shuts up.

At least Tessa doesn't own a fucking animal.

"Look here, I kept all my copies of Witch Weekly for you -" Emma says, gesturing towards the stack she pulled out of her bag. My attention slips from the conversation as my head begins to pulse again.

Of course I would get a headache on the first day of school. I reach into my handbag and pull out my black silk sleep mask. Neither Emma or Vari are paying any attention to me, so I close my magazine and lay back across the bench. Tessa will just have to sit on the other side until I wake up.

I can just about hear their conversation - Vari is telling Emma all the details of her cousin's marriage while Emma makes those noises to prompt her every so often.

Judging by the glazed look she had in her eyes before I closed mine, she's not actually processing any of this. Not that she really needs to - Vari doesn't need much of an invitation to start talking about literally anything.

I doze off slightly, only to wake when the train slams to a halt. I'm more conscious of the emerald around my neck burning my skin than the movement of the train, and despite knowing the jolt is coming, I fall off the bench and end up sprawled across the compartment floor.

"Omigosh-" Tessa's voice is unmistakable, as she drops what must be a book, in shock.

By the time I have my eye mask off, Tessa has her wand out, pointed directly at the overhead shelf where Xander put my trunk earlier.

And my trunk is levitating inches away from my face, the emerald is so hot against my skin, I think it might've burnt the skin beneath it.

"Did you just do that… nonverbally?" Vari says, her wide eyes on Tessa's wand.

It's Tessa's turn to widen her eyes, and she flicks her wand in what must be an attempt to force a Wingardium Leviosa out in sheer concentration. But judging by the look on her face, she's channelling constipation.

"Alright, don't shit yourself," I grumble, pushing my suitcase out of the way as Tessa's spell stops it from falling to the ground and onto my toes. "The feather-weight charm I put on it at the end of last year is still holding up. It's not like it would've hurt."

Tessa, Vari and Emma share what they must think is a sly look as I carefully stow my trunk on the luggage rack. I brush down my jacket and my skinny jeans for composure and sit back down, digging out a new fashion magazine from my overnight bag. I reach up, disguising my discomfort with the necklace as just anxiety and fiddle with it once the train starts up again. To my surprise, once I've found the emerald, it feels like a Dementor has sucked the warmth from it.

We sit in silence - and by that, I mean I gave the girls a sufficient death glare should they dare attempt to talk - for the next three hours as the sky darkens. As the sun is setting and Hogwarts grows closer, I can feel myself properly settling back into my true form.

A little longer passes - the night is almost out in full force and Hogwarts must be less than an hour away - and someone knocks on our compartment door. Emma, who is sat closest to the door, lifts the blinds slightly and immediately squeals.

"Ryan!" She breathes, immediately catching my attention. I have a split second to make up my mind - do I stand my ground and yell at him for being, quite possibly, the worst boyfriend in the history of boyfriends, or do I act like nothing is wrong? My decision revolves around whether or not we have company - I can't let anyone see that Ryan and I are having problems.

Before I've made my decision, Ryan opens the door and lets himself in.

And for a brief moment, I'm taken aback by just how damn good he looks. His skin is bronzed - no doubt from the fortnight his family takes in Monaco every August - and his usually butter-blond curls have turned platinum in the sun. He's already in his Hogwarts uniform, all neatly pressed by his mother, no doubt. His tie hangs neatly around his neck, pressed up to the top buttons.

That's unusual.

My eyes flicker over to something on his lapel. Something shiny.

Head Boy.

I haven't forgiven him, but this development means my boyfriend is the Head Boy of the entire school.

The lovestruck smile I summon is almost authentic.

His eyes gloss over my friends and settle on me. I have to do something to make up for my lack of enthusiasm when he entered, or everyone will know. I'm up in a split second and Ryan, ever intuitive to my moods, has his hand on the small of my back when I'm within his reach, pulling me towards him for our traditional start of year kiss.

The start of many for this year.

The year where I can rule over the school.

It doesn't take much to turn his chaste kiss into the whole nine yards - his hand is tangled in my hair, pulling me towards him as if we could become one - in just seconds.

"Missed me, huh?" He says when we break apart for air, that classic smirk he wears so well is only emphasised by his bronzed features. I wrap my hand around his bicep to steady myself and he immediately flexes it. For a brief moment, everything is perfect.

This was what I missed all summer. Ryan's presence has always had something intense about it - he's taller than most of the students and with the muscles of a Greek hero - which is enough to scare a lot of people, students and teachers alike.

The Head Boy badge and the power that comes with it - just amplifies it all. I'm not trying to read his aura, but the hint of scarlet red is there, oozing off him like he was born with it.

It takes just a split second for me to remember the fact that this is the first time I've seen him since the end of June. Or heard from him, for that matter. But I've made my decision.

"Mmmph," he mumbles, his attempt at saying something to the other girls is cut short as I pull him down for another kiss. It doesn't take much on my part for us to enter dangerous territory, I just push myself into him and he gets the message.

"We'll be back in a bit." He says, sliding the compartment door open, grabbing my hand in his and pulling me through the open doorway. I quickly swipe my uniform from my bag, because this is looking like I need an excuse.

The only private space we can get is the toilet, which isn't the worst place we've fucked, by far. He pulls me past the Slytherin Quidditch team's compartment, but I only catch a dash of ginger as we go by.

"I've missed you so fucking much," he mumbles into my ear and our lips are quick to meet again, but in the privacy of the toilet, his hands slip up under my crop top and a teasing fingertip runs along the cup of my bra.

But this time I'm the one to pull away first, not Ryan. He's a little surprised - his hand that's tangled in my hair relaxes ever so slightly. Nothing that I'd usually notice, but since he's not pulling me towards him, something is obviously going on in his head. Maybe he knows I'm still mad at him for this summer.

"What's the matter?" He whispers, his lips inches away, still damp from our kissing session.

And in that split second, my self preservation kicks in. I can't survive this hellhole without Ryan - especially not now he's Head Boy. I love him too much to kick up a fuss, and if I try to pick a fight with his whole disappearing act, then I could end up on the losing side.

"Nothing," I reply, grabbing his collar and pulling him down for a kiss. "I missed you, you idiot."

His smile is nothing short of dazzling. "I missed you too."

I suppose I could find it within myself to forgive him.

Not that I'll forget.

* * *

By the time I'm back in my compartment, the trolley lady has already been past. Vari and Tessa are comparing Chocolate Frog cards while Emma brushes her glossy black hair. Ryan had left the toilet before me, leaving me just enough time to compose myself before heading back out into the tragedy that is the Hogwarts Express. Fortunately nobody was waiting for the toilet to be free. Even if there was, my Hogwarts uniform is now on, so it would've just looked like I stepped in there to change.

"Took you long enough," Emma says, taking a small handheld mirror out from her overnight bag and double checking her makeup. "Lily came by, absolutely drenched."

Drenched? We're on a moving train, for Merlin's sake. How did she get drenched?

Emma takes one look at my raised eyebrow and shrugs, bringing a large fluffy brush laden with powder up to her nose.

"How does my makeup look?" I ask, quietly taking the seat next to her.

"Looks fine," she says, reaching up and wiping a little bit of lipgloss off the corner of my mouth. "You guys couldn't wait 'til after dinner?"

The masquerade doesn't take much, a cheeky smile, a little tilt of the head and I force some colour into my cheeks.

"I just missed him, ok? Summer sucks, like, so bad. I'm so far away from everyone else."

She makes a soft sound of agreement. "I can't imagine being that far away from everyone. But at least it's somewhere interesting."

Like the Italian countryside in a literal Unplottable mansion is somewhere 'interesting'. Playing blackjack with House Elfs gets old. Fast. They don't even have that much to bet!

Might as well change the subject.

"Has Molly come by yet?"

"Nope," Emma replies, opening up a copy of Witch Weekly. "Ohmigod- Did you hear?"

"Hear what?"

"Weasley and Scorpius broke up."

Referring to literally any of the Weasley spawn as just that isn't our normal way of communication - there's so many of them, their grandparents must've fucked like rabbits. But Scorpius - who was in what had to have been the most turbulent relationship going - identifies the offending Weasley child.

"No way? They broke up?" I say, grabbing the magazine off her. I don't care much for gossip, least of all Weasley gossip, but Scorpius is a Slytherin, and Slytherins are family. No ifs, no buts. I didn't rebuild our house from the ashes of the Second Wizarding War to not form some sort of community.

"Yeah, apparently they had this big fight at the Weasley barbeque at the end of summer. So bad that people thought there was a banshee on the loose."

"Merlin."

Of course, Tessa and Vari probably already know all this, especially if it's been posted on the Hogwarts Weekly Instagram page.

Merlin knows, they've got to find someone to obsess over when I'm not around. There's enough of the Weasley kids that there's no shortage of news.

"Oh, and apparently Professor Lupin and Victoire are engaged! How cool is that!"

Thinking about my professors, even worse, thinking about their lives outside of school, is not a thought I wanted to have to suffer with.

"I'm sure someone, somewhere, is pleased," I mutter, picking up my keepall and opening it to search for my face mist. Honestly, La Mer is a blessing. "How long til we get to Hogwarts?"

It's too dark outside to see anything, so Emma checks her phone. "Any minute now." Her voice softens to a whisper, so quiet, the only giveaway to Tessa and Vari that she's saying anything is the slightest movement of her lips. If they were paying attention. "I hope we're safe here."

She must mean those stupid murders.

"Well, if you don't count the staircases, we're perfectly safe." I whisper back, with a roll of my eyes. Her eyes widen in alarm, realising I heard her, and with that, the Hogwarts Express shudders to a halt.

Tessa jumps up in delight. Out of us all, she's probably the one who's happiest to be back here.

Like this isn't going to be another year of academic torture.

For all her enthusiasm though, Tessa has bagged us one of the first few carriages available. The only thing I think I've ever been on time for in this damn castle is the Welcome Feast. Molly, Lily and Scorpius are quick to jump in with us, filling up the carriage to capacity. Professor Weasley, one of the Care of Magical Creatures professors, slaps the side of our carriage and we're off.

Enchanted carriages, moving classrooms and a forest holding deadly creatures. What's not to like about Hogwarts?

"So, Scor," I say, adjusting my blazer slightly. "A little birdie told me that you and Rose aren't together anymore. Is it true?"

Before he has a chance to open his mouth, Molly's chimed in. "Merlin, yes. I've had to deal with Lucy telling me all about Rose's whining and crying. Like I want to deal with that."

Scorpius blushes the same shade Lily's been since he jumped in to join us.

"Yeah, I realised ages ago that we were really just together because everyone expected us to be together. I'm not sure if I actually liked her." He says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well, I definitely don't like her, so feel free to complain if you need to."

"Good luck," Molly looks like she can't decide whether or not to throw a shoe at me or to laugh. "She's a Prefect now."

Of course she is. If Professor Longbottom had given anyone other than Rose Weasley, I would have had him committed to St Mungo's. And people say we're the worst house for nepotism. But honestly? Has anyone ever looked at Gryffindor these days?

No, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes Weasley was the only obvious candidate for Prefect in Gryffindor. I pity whoever has to roam the halls with her on patrol.

"Can't say I didn't see that coming. Twenty Galleons on her snitching about the back to school party." I say, eyes fixed on Molly, as she's the only one here with that kind of money to spare. Between her Herbology skills and knack for Potions, Molly's side hustle is going well. A fair few students were brewing draughts and elixirs last year, but were slowly put out of business because Molly's were more reliable.

She laughs, as if trying to deny her interest, but the slight nod of her head when nobody else is looking tells me that the bet's on.

The rest of our journey doesn't take long, and as our carriage pulls to a halt outside the grand entrance and the castle looms over us, I can't help but feel like something is going to go terribly wrong.

"Come on," Emma says, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of my daze. "You're blocking the way."

I murmur an apology and take the stone steps up two at a time to catch up with the others. I have to take a moment to catch my breath and listen to the ongoing conversation between Scorpius and Lily so I can jump in.

"What, you think he's going to resign from the team?" Lily asks, her voice quavering.

"Probably. It's his seventh year, and he's Head Boy. Xander's passed on the captaincy, hasn't he?" Scorpius replies before racing off ahead to talk to Molly.

Lily's face turns to anguish as she stops in her tracks, making me walk straight into her back.

"Alright?" I ask, nodding towards Scorpius.

"You don't think Elliott would get rid of me?" She asks, fiddling with her blazer sleeve as the crowds of other students slowly gain on us. Elliott Masters, one of our Chasers from last year, must've been made Captain by Professor Hunt.

"Are you kidding me?" I laugh, grabbing her hand in mine. "He'd be crazy if he did."

Not to mention, I would literally skin him alive if he kicked Lily off the team. Even more so if he replaced her with with his little brother, who is now a second year.

"Yeah but…" Lily starts, now chewing on her blazer sleeve. I grab it quickly and pull it out of her mouth.

"No buts! I can have a word with him if you want?" I pause, taking in her expression. Elliott and I are at least acquaintances, but I've never had to have a one on one conversation with him before. If he knew what a shower was, I might be more willing to get up in close quarters, but anyone can smell the boy from a mile off.

She nods slightly as we enter the Great Hall and head to our table, hand in hand. Lily's Sorting was a source of contention for nearly everybody - some of the Weasley crew outright disowned her, some of them keep her at arm's length and Molly, of all people, was the first person to start clapping when the hat announced its decision. Since her Initiation, Lily has been one of my few favourites alongside Scorpius. A mischievous spirit can get you far in this house, and while I don't like to endorse the use of the Weasley's prank products, some of the things she's come up with to get revenge on her own brothers have been nothing short of genius.

"Oh!" She exclaims as we sit next to each other, facing the three other house tables. I've sat on this side of the table for the last five years, without failure. Something about sitting on the other side unsettles me. "What can you tell me about Divination?"

Oh Merlin. How do I begin to explain Divination? No, I can't do that. That's way too big of a question.

"I don't wanna put 'Lawners out of a job, Lils! You'll probably have her tomorrow anyway."

Deflating in her seat, Lily turns back to the table and our gathered group. Tessa already has a blank piece of parchment out - either she's taking notes, or she's waiting for the first drop of Hogwarts Weekly. I catch sight of Paris a little ways down the table, talking with the seventh year girls. Our eyes meet, and she's the first to look away.

Damn straight.

The herd of baby firsties trot into the Hall, led by Professor Weasley and stragglers are brought in by the lumbering form of Hagrid. After some weird song about inter-house unity, the Sorting begins. I take notes on who goes where, with seventeen Hufflepuffs, sixteen Ravenclaws, twenty one Gryffindors and just fourteen new Slytherins. I jot down the new Slytherin's names, as if I do decide to have Initiation this year, then I need to know everyone's names.

Flitwick starts his back to school speech, right as words begin forming on Tessa's piece of parchment.

I have to applaud the Charms work - the text spills across the page as if the reader is uncovering some sort of ancient treasure. But the content remains the same - absolute trash. I'm willing to bet someone's already mentioned my little episode on the platform earlier and that's what's coming up now.

I try and keep my ear out for Flitwick's speech - it's probably much more interesting than the garbage gossip that's about to start.

"And we should all stand together in times like these-"

My ears stop working as I notice the teacher's table behind Flitwick. Between Professor Lupin and Professor Clearwater, where Professor Sinistra sat last year, is an empty chair. Before I have much of a chance to dwell on it, Flitwick speaks.

"Our new Astronomy teacher has not yet returned from research, but we are expecting him in the late hours tonight."

No. What? Where's Professor Sinistra? She was the entire reason I'm taking this stupid subject as a NEWT! I can't bel-

"Oh my god, Louis Weasley is a slut!" Tessa half whispers, half yells across the table, shoving the parchment into Emma's face. There's a picture of Louis and one of Ravenclaw's now graduated Quidditch players kissing at Platform 9 & ¾.

Guess I did miss out on some gossip while I was hiding. At least it's not me that's being written about for now.

The whispering across the hall makes it too difficult to tell what's being said - everything starts melting together into sounds that just don't process. Molly, who is sat exactly opposite me, quickly pours something into her goblet and swaps it with my own, giving me a quick wink, and when dinner appears on the table, I'm one of the first to grab some pumpkin juice and down whatever Molly put in there.

It tastes delicious, and the familiar feeling of an Invigoration Draught lifts my senses. Ever the businesswoman, I don't doubt that Molly is already working out what to charge me for that.

I barely notice the time passing, and Ryan is the one to nudge me out of my stupor.

"Hey hon," he says, planting a kiss behind my ear. A gentle reminder of what we got up to earlier. "I gotta show the firsties down to the dorms, but I'll be free after that?"

I turn to him, my eyes glazed through and when they focus on him, his face flashes with recognition.

"Really? We're ten hours into the first day and you're fucking out of it already?" He hisses, a hand clamped around my wrist. "Who gave it to you?"

I shrug and swing my legs over the bench and stand up. I'm not throwing Molly to the wolves. I haven't yet and I won't.

"It doesn't matter. I needed something for my head." It feels like every word is snatching energy I need to do other things - to breathe, to walk -

"- Like I haven't heard that one before," He hisses into my ear beside me. He starts as if he's going to continue, but I've forced myself up and I'm already walking away. He can listen to his own self-righteous preaching. Like he didn't take things while he was doing his exams.

I walk as calmly as I can down to the common room, past the gathered crowd of Hufflepuffs tapping some barrels like idiots and into the comfort of the Slytherin Dungeon.

"I'm heading to bed," I call to Molly and Lily as I walk past. I can't sit up here and pretend that everything's ok while my hands are shaking like this. Someone's going to notice.

I grab my pyjamas out of my keepall and brush my teeth while someone showers. I'm so thankful that nobody else is down here yet - Tessa and the others are probably discussing the gossip with some other Slytherins. I change into my pyjamas and quickly head back to my four-poster bed. Swathed in deep green curtains, a matching bedspread in satin awaits me. I kick the fluffy grey blanket to the floor and launch all the decorative pillows overboard, closing the curtains with a swish of my wand.

Only once I've cast my version of Muffliato - where the buzzing is replaced by fake sounds of me sleeping - do I let the sobs out.


End file.
